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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627275">Show You Better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightest_abstraction95/pseuds/brightest_abstraction95'>brightest_abstraction95</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we make fuckin' music [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Billy hargrove in eyeliner, Billy is dramaaattiiiiccc, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Car chases?, F/F, F/M, Gay Billy Hargrove, Healing, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mechanic Billy Hargrove, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Protective Billy Hargrove, Protective Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington can’t catch a break, Steve Harrington in lipgloss, Steve throws clay, We throw just a little shade at Nancy in this house</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:09:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightest_abstraction95/pseuds/brightest_abstraction95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve had been taken to the hospital after Starcourt, the doctor had sat him down and listed some of the side effects of serious head injuries having been piled on top of previous ones (which had gone untreated). Trouble concentrating, memory problems, depression, migraines. Steve had quietly folded the list of side effects over alongside a few prescriptions, and scheduled a therapy session with his next visit.</p><p>But then... he and Billy had really started dating, and then they moved in together, and it was so easy to pretend that his problems had gone away because he was happy now. Without doctor visits and prescription diagnoses, Steve can be quirky and endearing instead of a little broken. And... honestly, /jesus/, like /shit/, really, Billy almost died protecting all of them, so why couldn't Steve lie a little bit about what he needed to protect Billy?</p><p>It all gets worse from there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley/Heather Holloway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we make fuckin' music [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>193</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. didya think (by Arlie)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i'm making random changes to canon and will not explain myself. will be posting two chapters a week ! all stories in this series exist in the same universe, and will happen in a vaguely chronological order, but there's really no need to read them in order. all of this is entirely self indulgent. thank you for reading !</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve bounded into the apartment, the door swinging wide and hitting the far wall hard.</p><p>“Hey,” Billy barked from the kitchen. “Don’t you let the door bang like that.” </p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” Steve breathlessly called back, turning to gently close the door behind him. Then he pivoted and galloped down the hallway to where Billy had his back turned, hunching over the sink and cleaning vegetables to fry for dinner. He had already showered after coming home from work, and was wearing an old pair of basketball shorts that hugged his thick thighs now since he had more heavy, practical muscle instead of the lean cut, showy muscles he had cultivated in high school, and a baggy black long sleeve tee. He was barefoot, and his hair was falling in wet ringlets around his ears. </p><p>“I,” Steve crowed, and Billy jumped a little, glaring in affront over his shoulder. “Have an announcement.” Bemused now, though still incredulous, Billy turned around and leaned against the counter, motioning with a wave of his hand for Steve to continue.</p><p>“<b> <em>I</em> </b>,” Steve stressed even louder, “Got the job.” </p><p>There it was, there was the reaction he’d been hoping for. Billy’s mouth dropped open and his eyes flew wide, pulling himself away from the counter.</p><p>“No shit! The gig at the pottery studio? Or the one at the high school?”</p><p>Steve stood and felt the smile pulling at his cheeks. </p><p>“No. No, no, no, it’s the pottery gig, isn’t it, baby?” Billy asked, the excitement in his own voice making it impossible for Steve to keep his composure.</p><p>He had applied for loads of jobs right out of college, some more practical, and some more… dreamy. With his art degree, teaching was the route most had expected him to take, and he’d probably still do some teaching down the line, but this… getting to throw clay in his own corner of a warehouse? Selling his own work that he had made with his own hands? He was walking on air.</p><p>Billy roared and rushed at him, swooping low enough just in time to connect his shoulder with Steve’s stomach, hefting him up and carrying him around the apartment, ass in the air.</p><p>They were both laughing as Billy carried them to the living room, where he stood at one arm of the old, warm brown, cracking leather sofa and flung Steve down onto it. Steve shrieked as he flew and bounced out his landing. He did <em> not </em>giggle as Billy, eyes dark and glinting, crouched and began, very slowly, crawling on top of him.</p><p>“We have to celebrate.” Billy said. “Any way for me to…” He drew a finger up one of Steve’s arms and chuckled as goosebumps followed the line. “Congratulate you?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” Steve answered, voice coming a little strangled. “I was… I was thinking maybe we could go to the movies -” He started to tease, and Billy smirked as he lowered his mouth to Steve’s neck.</p><p>He kissed once, twice, three times up and down Steve’s neck, making the other boy breathe out a sigh, before planting his mouth open on his neck and blowing a raspberry into his skin.</p><p>Steve jerked, and yelped, scrambling to push Billy away.</p><p>“Bastard!” He yelled. “Dick! Off, get off me!” Billy successfully laid three more on Steve’s neck before losing his balance and collapsing onto his boyfriend’s chest.</p><p>Billy turned his head to look at Steve then, smiling sweetly in that way that made his eyes crinkle and the one dimple in his right cheek crease.</p><p>“Ok, but we are going to actually celebrate.” He said strongly, wagging a finger in Steve’s face and letting Steve bite at it. “Want to call everybody over here for dinner? I can fry up some extra veggies, and make rice - and steak! I’ll grill steak!”</p><p>Steve gave a little laugh and nodded. Billy pushed himself up and bolted around the little apartment to gather his wallet and keys from the kitchen island and his shoes from under the kitchen table. He was halfway down the hall when Steve yelled,</p><p>“Maybe put pants on?” He heard Billy skid to a stop and stand still for a beat, obviously seriously thinking about it.</p><p>“Eck,” Billy groaned, but Steve heard him bust into his room and start rifling through his dresser drawers anyway. Steve laughed again and pushed himself up to hop over to their landline on the end of the kitchen island. He picked up the receiver and started dialing.</p><p>--</p><p>Less than an hour later, Billy was stumbling back in from the grocery store, lugging up bags with fresh produce, generous cuts of meat, and two six packs of beer to throw onto the kitchen counter next to the sink.</p><p>Steve had called around and invited Nancy, Dustin, Robin, and Heather over. Jonathan was in town visiting too, so he was tagging along. Steve had spent the rest of the time Billy had been gone straightening the place up a little, turning on the lamp in the corner of the living room and the light in the kitchen, taking out serving dishes and plates, and firing up the grill that took up more than half of the space on their little balcony.</p><p>Billy swooped past him and gave him a quick, smushing kiss on his cheek before he started washing his hands and cleaning the vegetables he had just bought.</p><p>“Chop those up?” Billy asked, pointing to the ones that were already clean and laying out on a ratty striped towel to dry. So, they prepared the meal together fast, bumping each other with their hips and nudging each other with their elbows and laughing. </p><p>--</p><p>Everyone showed up around the same time, as Billy was still out on the porch finishing up the last of the food. Robin and Heather showed up first with Dustin in tow. Robin didn’t bother knocking, swinging the door open and yelling,</p><p>“Hey dingus, I brought your child.” </p><p>Steve leapt up from where he had been lounging on the couch and ran to the hallway, colliding with Dustin who quickly squeezed him around the middle in a tight hug, lifting him up off the ground with a grunt. He had gotten into the habit of doing that lately, showing off his newfound strength that had come with his latest growth spurt. </p><p>“Put me down, dipshit,” Steve hollered.</p><p>“Steve!” Heather exclaimed, much more polite than the other two she had arrived with.</p><p>“Heather!” Steve called back, though he had to keep turning his head to look at her, as he was still being carried around aimlessly by Dustin. “I’m so happy you came!”</p><p>“Thank you for inviting me,” She answered sweetly. “Congratulations on your new job!”</p><p>“We brought snacks, pony boy,” Robin said, lifting up a reusable grocery bag. All concerned about saving the planet and shit, Steve guessed. “Where you want ‘em?”</p><p>“Uh, oof -” Steve jerked as Dustin decidedly abruptly that he was done carrying him and dropped him. “Just on the coffee table, I guess.” He told them.</p><p>“Cool, we need plates to put them on or whatever.”</p><p>“You know where everything is,” Steve rolled his eyes at her like she hadn’t practically lived there for the first two months after he and Billy had gotten the place. Billy had gotten so mad after the third time she had accidentally walked in on them having sex that he had banned her from the premises for six weeks.</p><p>Robin flipped him off and skipped into the kitchen.</p><p>--</p><p>Billy was pulling all of the food inside at the same time that Nancy and Jonathan showed up, knocking on the door and waiting politely for Steve to run down the hallway and greet them. </p><p>“Hey, guys!” He said cheerily, pulling them both in for a hug. “It’s been a long time, thanks for coming out.”</p><p>“Of course, Steve,” Nancy answered. “Thanks for giving us a call.”</p><p>“Sure! Come on in, Bill just finished cooking.”</p><p>“Smells great,” Jonathan offered a little awkwardly, but Steve could tell it was sincere. </p><p>“Yeah, it does,” Steve answered, smiling at him warmly. </p><p>“We brought wine!” Nancy announced, holding up two paper bags, one clenched in each fist.</p><p>“Perfect! Thank you!” Steve led them back down the hallway.</p><p>--</p><p>Everyone milled around most of the night, eating the skewers that Billy had ended up making with large, clean cuts of vegetables and steak, seasoned with just a little spice. They went through the six packs of beer and the bottles of cheap wine that they drank out of an assortment of cups, wine glasses, and mugs, since Steve and Billy didn’t have full sets of anything, milling around the room and hanging comfortably off furniture. Billy had popped a tape into the cassette player sitting on the tv stand and music was playing softly in the background.</p><p>Steve and Jonathan found themselves standing quietly against the wall beside the couch which had been claimed by Dustin, who was laying across the length of it and tilting his head back off the seat cushion and dropping chips into his mouth. They were both loosely holding the last two beer bottles in their hands, pinching the bottlenecks between their fingers.</p><p>“So, pottery, huh?” Jonathan asked, sounding a little skeptical - or maybe just surprised. Steve got that. They had never really… clicked with each other, even after everything with Nancy had cooled down. Steve knew some of Jonathan’s pastimes, between what he had… picked up on going to school with him, and listening to Nancy and Will talk about him, but Steve’s hobbies - and even his degree, honestly - didn’t compute with the image he had carefully crafted in high school. It was ok that Jonathan didn’t know much about him, Steve understood.</p><p>“Yeah,” He laughed a little self consciously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s just… <em> it </em>for me. Like, the one. I can just sit, and feel it, and make stuff right there, watch it come to life right in front of me. One of the only times my brain's quiet and I don’t have to worry about anything, you know?”</p><p>Jonathan was quiet for a minute, looking at him keenly. “Yeah, actually, I really do get it.” He answered, and for a second, Steve thought they understood each other. “You have any pieces you’ve made here?” He asked, interest inflecting his voice.</p><p>“I do,” Steve answered, trying and probably failing to squash the excitement in his voice. “That vase in the corner, that was one I had to complete for class.” In the corner of the apartment sat a vase that came up to about mid thigh on him. It was a massive piece, but it was simple, with rounding sides and a gentle bottle neck, and soothing lines all around it. “And this platter,” He pointed to the dish on the coffee table that was holding the chips and cheese dip that Robin and Heather had brought. It was a large circle, with a stiff but short edge pulled directly up.</p><p>“No shit,” Jonathan said softly, mouth half turned up in an impressed grin. “You made those? That’s awesome -”</p><p>Steve felt hands press and slide around his waist until Billy was hugging him from behind. “Mhm,” Billy said. “Stevie’s real good with his hands.” Steve covered his face in embarrassment but not quick enough to miss Jonathan’s blush. Robin gagged across the room.</p><p>“Get a room,” Dustin called from his spot on the couch, but sounded bored and unaffected, like Billy could have worked on being a little more original.</p><p>“Can you just appreciate your boyfriend’s work for a minute without being gross?” Nancy scolded.</p><p>“Oh, I appreciate it, alright.” Steve couldn’t see his face, but practically heard the suggestive wink that Billy sent Nancy’s way. “I appreciate it<em> all night long </em>.”</p><p>Steve spluttered then and scrambled to turn in Billy’s arms and slap a hand over his mouth.</p><p>“Cheesy slime ball,” Robin accused, and bent over to pretend to retch on the floor. Jonathan flushed a deeper red, but the other two chuckled.</p><p>“Oh, my <em> god </em>, would you shut up.” Steve insisted, but he couldn’t keep the laugh out of his own voice, and he yelped when Billy pinched his side and snatched his hand back when Billy wiggled his tongue against it.</p><p>“But really, Steve, this is amazing, and we’re so happy for you.” Nancy said.</p><p>“For real, dingus, you’re going to be great.” Robin offered.</p><p>Steve turned back to smile at them warmly.</p><p>“You’ll make me a mug, won’t you?” Heather asked, batting her eyes at him.</p><p>Robin rolled her eyes. “Careful, she’ll break anything you make her within a week.”</p><p>Heather gasped, offended. “I would not.” She insisted. Robin poked a thumb at her.</p><p>“She’s even got you beat, Steve, she’s such a klutz.”</p><p>“I’m not a klutz!” Steve and Heather both said, and they all laughed again.</p><p>“Liars!” Robin shouted.</p><p>“It’s ok,” Billy comforted, petting Steve's hair. “It’s cute.”</p><p>--</p><p>When everyone left, Steve and Billy gathered up any mess and piled it all in the kitchen sink to worry about in the morning. Then they went back to the couch and Steve pressed a kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth.</p><p>“Have fun tonight, sweetheart?” Billy asked, his deep, tired voice rumbling in his chest.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve answered avidly. “Thank you.” Billy grinned and squeezed his shoulder.</p><p>“Sure thing, baby.” He said. Steve tucked himself resolutely under Billy’s arm. They let the quiet of their apartment and the distant sounds of some of their neighbors and the street below settle around them. Billy trailed the backs of his fingers up and down Steve’s arm.</p><p>“Scarecrow Byers has a thing for you.” Billy said lightly, after a while.</p><p>“Wh-what?” Steve stuttered, shooting up to look at Billy’s face, because he couldn’t tell whether or not he was joking. “No way. Not in a million years. Also, don’t call him that.”</p><p>Billy smiled, looking a little too smug. “Yeah he does, pretty boy. Don’t worry about it, though. I’m not.” He leered and licked his teeth, confident that he had caught Steve and his dick had ruined him for anyone else. Which might have been true, but was <em> so </em>not the point right now.</p><p>“He’s literally in a relationship with a woman. And has been for years.”</p><p>“So were you? But don’t sweat it, sugar. I don’t think even Scarecrow realizes it yet. I was picking up big fat repressed vibes tonight.”</p><p>Steve thought back to Billy’s suggestive comments earlier. He would withstand any amount of cruel and unusual punishment before admitting that he sort of liked when Billy was like that, it made him feel flustered and young and… <em> wanted </em>, but - “Wait. Were you - jealous? Was that you… staking your claim or whatever? Because, Billy - “ He was about to start in on a lecture that was going to be equal parts assurance and reprimand, but Billy cut him off with a laugh.</p><p>“No, you idiot, I wasn’t jealous. I was… testing the waters. Can’t very well go up and ask a guy if he has a hard on for my boyfriend when he’s so far inside the closet that he’s fighting centaurs in Narnia or some shit.”</p><p>“Dork,” Steve said. “That wasn't even a closet.”</p><p>“Nerd.” Billy smirked back.</p><p>“But Jonathan… He’s head over heels for Nancy, I really don’t think -”</p><p>“Nah, I think he’s like you.” Billy waved his hand vaguely at Steve, referring (Steve assumed) to his bisexuality. “But he’s going to figure it out one of these days, and - don’t start with me with some mushy bullshit, alright, but I want to be ready to… help him out, or something. You know? That’s something you want to know about yourself, whether you’re going to do anything about it or not.”</p><p>Steve looked at his boyfriend, who firmly looked away, teeth clenching in a way that made his jaw tick. Steve smiled at him warmly, and pushed up to kiss him again, on his neck and then his ear and then his cheek and then the side of his nose, before Billy laughed and pushed him away.</p><p>“Whatever. Come here.” He said, and pulled Steve back down to fit into his side again.</p><p>They sat in silence for a little while longer. Steve chewed a little on his bottom lip. Billy’s eyes were closed, head resting on the back of the couch, hard jawline standing out even in the soft light of the lamp in the corner of the room.</p><p>“You know… I don’t think I would have been mad, if that was you being jealous earlier.” Steve said, trying to sound nonchalant. Billy opened one eye to peer down at him.</p><p>“Is that right?” He asked, his voice pitched deeper again.</p><p>Steve shrugged. Billy moved slowly, sitting up and turning to face Steve, grinning in a slow, curling way.</p><p>“You want me to remind you who you belong to, Stevie?” He asked, slowly crawling on top of Steve so his sturdy golden arms trapped him in. Steve moved too, laying on the couch and laughing. “Of course Jonny would like you. He’s probably had it bad for you for <em> years </em>, babydoll. You might not know what you do to people, but that doesn’t mean it’s lost on anybody else.”</p><p>Steve tried to cover his face because he could feel the heat of his blush all the way to the tips of his ears. Billy chuckled and used one hand to grab both of Steve’s and pull them down.</p><p>“What, are we <em> shy </em>now, pretty boy?” He asked.</p><p>“I changed my mind, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Steve insisted, his voice breaking.</p><p>Billy tutted. “Too late for that, no going back now.” He settled himself a little more comfortable on top of Steve, and sighed like he was about to start a monologue. “There’s something... <em> poetic </em>about the creep’s crush on you, though. He was the smarmy, greasy kid in the background who spent all his time in those creepy darkrooms, listening to creepy music and watching creepy foreign movies and feeling like nobody understood him or whatever. You were sparkling King Steve, you were untouchable. You had the picture perfect life from the outside, baby, you can’t deny it.”</p><p>“What is this, story time?” Steve complained, rolling his eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve watched Breakfast Club too many times.”</p><p>Billy settled fully, heavy on top of him, and said, “Mhm.” With a smug, shit eating grin on his face. “Jonny boy was probably so obsessed with you he couldn’t see straight. Played stalker, watching you from behind all the crowds. You were the kind of art he wanted to take pictures of.” Steve tried to tamp down on the snort and keep his expression neutral, but obviously failed when Billy pounced on it. “What was that?” He asked sharply, smiling wider. “I’m right, aren’t I? I’ve been right all along, and you <em> knew </em>. What did he do? Come on, Stevie, tell me. You gotta tell me, come on.”</p><p>“Ok, listen -” Steve answered, scooting backward, pulling his hands out of Billy’s grip, and holding up a scolding finger. Billy jumped back, delighted. “It was not about me, it was about Nancy, and you have to <em> swear </em> you will <em> never </em>speak of this again, and this stays between us right here, you got it?”</p><p>Billy saluted him stiffly. “Aye-aye, captain.” He shouted, and Steve clapped a hand over Billy’s mouth again, afraid that the neighbors would complain. They sat for a minute, Steve miserably cursing himself for what was about to happen, until Billy started poking his ticklish sides. “Come on, pretty boy,<em> tell me </em>.”</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Steve yelped, slapping Billy’s fingers away. “So back in highschool, Jonathan <em> might </em> have been walking through the woods behind my house while Nancy was over one time, and he <em> might </em>have taken some… pictures?” He trailed off a little at the look on Billy’s face, when his mouth dropped open and he actually started to look a little angry. This wasn't how he had wanted this to go.</p><p>“Pictures?” Billy ground out.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You asking me now?” Billy snarked, which put Steve a little at ease. “Tell me about the pictures, Stevie.” He said, and put a threatening weight behind his words.</p><p>“So… Some girl at school - she graduated that year, you didn’t know her - told me about them when she caught Jonathan developing them in the darkroom? They were pictures of me and Nancy... through my bedroom window?”</p><p>“They were fucking WHAT?” Billy exclaimed. The look on his face made Steve chuckle nervously. “You shitting me, Harrington? That piece of stalker shit, you - and he was developing them AT SCHOOL? <em> Ohoho </em>, I’ll kick his ass.” Billy’s teeth gnashed together.</p><p>Steve shot up too. “No you won’t, you promised you wouldn’t.” He insisted.</p><p>“That was before I knew the guy took actual peeping tom pictures of you. And don’t even try to deny it anymore, hell fuckin’ yeah he beat off to those pictures. He won’t have teeth left by the time I’m done with him -”</p><p>Steve surged up and started planting kisses on Billy’s mouth, figured that was the most direct route to shutting him up.</p><p>“They weren’t even really that bad, since my room was on the second floor. It was just us undressing, and the ones I saw barely had me in them.” Steve started babbling. “Not to say it wasn’t… you know, a little creepy, but I also don’t think it proves your point. You can’t be mad, it happened years ago. And with everything that went on, he’s changed. Grown! Plus I punched him, and so much has happened since, so it really isn’t that big a deal anymore -”</p><p>Billy kissed <em> him </em> this time, and grudgingly pushed Steve back so he was laying down again, and then laid himself down on Steve’s chest. “At least you punched him.” Billy mumbled, placated. “But that <em> totally </em>means I’m right.”</p><p>Not willing to rile Billy up about it again, Steve conceded, “It only means you’re right a little bit.”</p><p>“Bet it really grinds his gears that he wasn’t the first one who got to wreck you.” Billy gloated. “That I got to steal King Steve’s crown before he did, that I got to be the one who makes Hawkin’s golden boy weak in the knees.”</p><p>Steve gaped down at Billy in utter disbelief. “You are… Simultaneously the grossest and cheesiest person I have ever met.” He told him. “How is that even possible?” Billy looked up at him and waggled his tongue.</p><p>“Just for you, pretty boy. What he could have been with you might have been poetry, but we make fuckin’ <em> music </em>, baby.” He crowed, his good mood back in full swing, quick enough to leave Steve’s head spinning. He hopped off the couch and grabbed Steve’s wrists in both hands, tugging him on to his feet and down the hallway. “Now come sit on my face.”</p><p>“Oh, my <em> god </em> , Billy. <em> Shut up </em>.” Steve exclaimed, but he let Billy lead him anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Can Ghosts Be Gay (by carpetgarden)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next night, Steve slouched on the sofa, head craned sideways to watch a worn out, fuzzy VHS on their little tv. Billy was laying on his stomach between Steve’s legs, arms boxing in Steve’s sides, chin tucked right in the bend of Steve’s hip.</p><p>They were idly watching the movie - in fact, Steve thought Billy might have fallen asleep. The rest of the apartment was dark around the buzzing glare of the tv screen. With some sense of foreboding, Steve felt the slightest pressure behind his eyes.</p><p><em>A migraine?</em> He wondered, and breathed a curse, rubbing his eyes against the sharp tv light.</p><p>Billy grunted sluggishly, and sort of shifted.</p><p>“What is it?” He asked, voice scratchy from sleep.</p><p>Steve took the opportunity that presented itself with Billy’s shift and scooted further down on the couch to rest his head on the cushion.</p><p>“Just a headache.” He answered.</p><p>“Aw,” Billy said sincerely, pushing himself up off Steve and sitting back on his heels. “I’m sorry, babe.” Just as quickly, his expression turned dark and he grinned with his teeth. “You want me to kiss anything better?”</p><p>Steve huffed a laugh, but put a hand up to stave Billy off. “Not this time, Bill.” He said fondly. Billy rolled his eyes dramatically.</p><p>“Don’t say I didn’t try, could have cured all your ills right here.” He answered. But, then he got up and gently helped Steve off the couch, walking him down the hallway to his room. Steve lay down and Billy pulled his comforter over him.</p><p>“Anything else you need?” Billy asked.</p><p>Steve shook his head, already burying his face in his pillow. “Just get the lights, please.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Sure, babe.” Billy answered, bent over to kiss Steve’s hair, and flipped the lights off on his way out of the room.</p><p>--</p><p>The next day, Billy left early for work (his boss had asked him to come in on Sunday when they didn’t have any customers, to do a little maintenance and cleaning, and Billy never turned down a little extra, easy cash) and thought nothing of the fact that Steve was still in bed.</p><p>At some point during the day, Steve got up and hobbled down to the bathroom to relieve himself and then duck his head under the sink faucet to gulp a few mouthfuls of water before stumbling back to bed. Besides this venture, he did not move. Between desperate attempts at sleep, he lay back down and tried to think.</p><p>This was his fault, really. He hadn’t gone back to the doctor after his prescriptions ran out because Billy didn’t exactly… <em>know</em>, per se? It wasn’t that Steve was keeping a secret or anything. And it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just that doctor’s visits and CT scans and migraine medications all happened a little too close to a particular scar above Steve’s left eyebrow that Billy traced very lightly sometimes when he thought Steve was asleep. Steve did not want to bring any attention <em>whatsoever</em> to that scar, and… yes, the hairline fracture that had split underneath it. For something so breakable, porcelain could do a surprising amount of damage.</p><p>Having been a rowdy kid as invested in sports as he was, Steve wasn’t a stranger to concussions. Sure, the splitting headaches that had pulsed behind his ears and put spots in his vision for days and the sharp pains that he had gotten when he moved too quickly sometimes had been a little concerning, but he had just been a dumb kid, figured if he ignored it for long enough it would just go away.</p><p>He never found out if that good old “close your eyes and it’ll leave you alone” approach would work or not, because months later, the mall happened. He’d been called hard headed before, but <em> holy shit balls, Batman, </em> people were really putting that to the test those days. This time, though, he and Robin had been bullied by paramedics into the back of a bumpy ambulance and whisked away to the hospital. After the tests and the scans and the overnight observations, as well as a few precarious and staggering attempts to walk to the bathroom, his doctor had come in with a clipboard.</p><p>His doctor’s name was Benjamin Krass. Dr. Krass was young, and a pretty hot one at that, Steve had thought. Directly after, he felt his face burn red and he squirmed, because if the smug, though not unkind, little smirk on the doctor’s face was any indication, he <em> might </em>have said that out loud. Mercifully, Dr. Krass hadn’t mentioned it. Instead, he had pulled up a chair beside Steve’s hospital bed and things had gotten serious. </p><p>First of all, apparently Steve had already met the doctor and gone through some similar form of introduction the night before. Second, there were some things that Steve needed to know about the aftermath of such severe head injuries having been piled on to previous ones which had gone untreated. Dr. Krass had taken him through a list of possible side effects. Trouble concentrating, memory problems, irritability, trouble sleeping, depression and other psychological problems or changes in mood or behavior, sensitivity to light and noise, and migraines. That made sense, he had… experience with a lot of those. He had sheepishly asked if the doctor could write those down for him, and Doctor Krass had given him the list alongside a prescription for pain and migraine medications.</p><p>Steve had continued to see Doctor Krass after that, to get new migraine prescriptions filled, and so that the doctor could monitor his recovery and help him with different things - his memory loss, his anxiety and depression, even his dyslexia. Sometimes, Steve wondered if all of this was really in the doctor’s job description, or if Ben just felt bad for him. Robin never failed to remind him about his baby crush on the doctor, too. It hadn’t been his first gay freak out - his first had been in middle school, on a boy named Malachi, and he had had the presence of mind to be very quiet about it, thank you - but it <em>was </em>the first gay crush he had told anyone about. And even outside of <em>that</em>, he had liked Dr. Krass. And going to see Dr. Krass had helped him a lot. </p><p>But then he and Billy had really started dating in earnest, and then they had moved in together, and it was so easy to pretend that his problems had gone away because he was <em> happy </em>now, and he hated the thought of having to start all over with Billy, explaining that part of his past and what had happened, so he just… didn’t.</p><p>So Billy didn’t really know everything that had happened to him in highschool. Billy had read the newspaper articles. He had seen the big news breaks. After being trapped in the Upside Down with his doppelganger running around uptop for a couple weeks, he knew the stories were bullshit. But, he had used them to put two and two together about Steve’s involvement (Steve had been around when the Byers kid disappeared, Barb had died in Steve’s pool, Steve had been working at the mall when all that went to shit). But there had been a lot of things that they had put behind them at the beginning of their relationship, and they left it at that.</p><p>And of course, Steve was hyper supportive about Billy going to therapy and getting the help he needed, but being possessed by the devil versus being punched around a little bit were on different levels of trauma, and Steve could handle a couple headaches.</p><p>It isn’t that he thinks Billy would be unsupportive or shitty about it either. He even likes the fond, exasperated looks Billy gives him now when he forgets why he walked in a room, and when he has to write extensive lists to remember important things he has to do. He reads to Steve because Steve won’t do it himself (without Dr. Ben’s assignments, that is). Neither of them are cooks by any stretch of the imagination, but Billy says he likes cooking for Steve because he likes taking care of him, and they take on grocery shopping like a challenge which all somehow overrides Steve’s lack of appetite on his bad days. </p><p>Without the doctor visits and prescriptions and diagnoses, Steve can be <em> quirky </em> and <em> endearing </em> instead of a little broken and needy. And… Honestly, <em> Jesus </em> , like <em> shit </em> , really, Billy almost <em> died </em>protecting all of them, so why couldn’t Steve lie a little bit about what he needed to protect Billy?</p><p>This was all getting a little on top of Steve now, though, because the One Big Lie he’s been living with Billy has turned into a dozen other Big Lies he’s been living with everyone else - especially Dustin and Robin, to make sure they don’t worry about him. It’s getting to be too much, and he has a feeling that this migraine right here is going to make everything go just a little bit to shit.</p><p> </p><p>By the time Billy came home for the night, Steve had fallen asleep again. Billy quietly shuffled into the dark apartment with two grocery bags clutched in one hand. One bag held soup and crackers in case Steve was still feeling bad, and the other held frozen pizza and ice cream. </p><p>“Steve?” Billy called through the closed bedroom door. Steve shifted a little, but his head ached and he didn’t try for any bigger movements. “Steve, baby, you still in bed?” </p><p>Steve hummed a little and heard the crinkling of bags being dropped on the floor and then his door creaked open. Billy poked his head around the corner and looked down at Steve, concerned. In his hazy mind, Steve couldn’t discern if he was anxious or relieved that Billy was there. When Billy let the door swing open all the way, he winced at the light and turned his head.</p><p>Feeling the bed dip beside him and a cool hand placed on his forehead, he whispered, “I’m okay now, just sore.” He had meant for it to be comforting, but even he was surprised at how weak his voice sounded, so he may have just made things worse…</p><p>“Do we need to take you to the hospital or something, Steve?” Billy asked softly. “This doesn’t just seem like a headache.”</p><p>“‘S a migraine,” Steve whispered back. “I’ve had ‘em before, ‘s ok.” To prove it, he levered himself up so he was sitting in the bed, pushed down the wave of nausea that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him, and gave Billy a watery smile.</p><p>Billy was looking back at him with a scowl on his face, unimpressed.</p><p>“I probably just need a little food in me,” Steve reassured him, which got Billy to move back a little and nod.</p><p>“Yeah, ok. I brought soup, I’ll start warming it up for you.”</p><p>“Thanks, Bill.”</p><p>They ate in the dark, on opposite ends of the couch with their legs tangled together.</p><p>—</p><p>Then it was Monday, and Steve had his first full day of work at the warehouse, came home exhausted but exhilarated, and his head was still a little tender but he had clay caking into the grooves of the skin on his hands. Billy was so happy for him but still spoke in a quiet voice, worried that he would hurt his head.</p><p>A few days after that, when Steve was officially back to normal again, he excitedly told Billy that he had gotten a reservation at a restaurant in Indianapolis on Saturday, and an impromptu weekend trip to Indi was enough to make Billy forget (for the most part) how worried he had been about his boyfriend.</p><p>Weeks later, the event had entirely left Billy’s mind, to Steve’s never ending relief. There was a small, anxious voice that played continually in the back of his mind that things were going to get worse again, but he couldn’t find it in himself to come clean to Billy. He thought Billy had noticed again, noticed that Steve had been a little distant, that his smiles had been a little forced, and that rankled him even more. </p><p> </p><p>If Billy did notice that Steve was acting strange, he didn’t mention it. He also seemed just as happy as Steve was to see Steve coming back from work with clay splatters on his clothes, caked into his hands, and smeared in his hair. He was just as happy to listen as Steve was to talk about which pieces survived the latest firing and which ones had been set out on the shelves. </p><p>Steve listened to Billy moan and complain about customers who came in to the mechanics, especially when he had to man the desk instead of working on the cars.</p><p>“You wouldn’t believe the shit people just leave in their cars like they don’t think we’ll see. This one lady left her radio on blasting Tina Turner, and had five of those corny romance novels from the library spread out in her passenger seat like she just wanted to look at the beefy dudes on the covers.”</p><p>“Hey!” Steve had objected.</p><p>“Are you talking about Tina Turner? Because you’re so cute when you think what you listen to is music. Or are you talking about the beefy dudes? Because I have a problem with that, too.” Billy cooed.</p><p>“You’re such an ass,” Steve laughed.</p><p>“I know, I know, you’re obsessed.” Billy sighed like it was a burden. “Sometimes I wonder if my delectable ass is the only reason you’re with me.”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em>not, baby,” Steve rolled his eyes. “I love those big rough hands on me too.” Steve answered, snaking up close to him and taking Billy’s wrists to pull his hands up his waist. “Make me feel like the damsel on the covers of those romances.”</p><p>Billy swooped Steve down into a dip so fast that Steve cursed and had to throw his arms around Billy’s neck for real.</p><p>“I’ll romance you real good, baby.” He said, and kissed his neck. </p><p><br/>—</p><p>Then it was a Saturday night, and they had both gotten off work late. </p><p>As soon as Steve walked into the apartment, toed off his work boots, and made his way down the hallway, Billy yelled,</p><p>“I’m <em> starving </em>.”</p><p>“So happy to see you too,” Steve answered, rolling his eyes. “I missed you all day, work was alright, how was yours? Oh, it was great? I’m so glad! Man, ever think about how we’re really just <em>living the dream</em>?”</p><p>He walked down the hallway and leaned his shoulder against the wall looking into their living room. Billy was laying face down on the couch, still wet from his shower, in a pair of jeans that were dark around the waist from water.</p><p>“Shut up,” Billy shot back. “You get bitchy when you’re hungry.”</p><p>“Yeahhh,” Steve drawled with a grin. “<em>I’m</em> bitchy.” He cut off his laughter, because it would do nothing to help Billy’s mood.</p><p>“I said shut up, Harrington. There’s nothin’ in the fridge.” Billy mumbled into the pillow.</p><p>“Can I buy you dinner?” He offered sweetly. Billy finally turned his head to look at him, cheek squished and eyebrows furrowed hard.</p><p>“What kinda dinner?” He asked.</p><p>“How ‘bout the diner next to that fancy hotel?” Steve asked. “Their hamburgers were pretty good.”</p><p>Billy groaned. “Those hamburgers were heaven on earth,” He said, and jumped off the couch.</p><p>“Well,” Steve felt he had to caveat as Billy rushed toward his room. “You were like <em>stupid</em> high at the time.”</p><p>“Nu uh, pretty boy, I know a phenomenal burger when I get my hands on one. You’re taking me on a date.” He answered, smacking Steve’s ass as he passed him. Steve  rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Anything for you, my love.” Steve snarked back. “But I gotta take a shower first.” </p><p>Billy spun back around and threatened, “You shower and I’ll beat your ass. Ain’t got time for Steve Harrington’s 40 minute spa date. Change your clothes and let’s go.”</p><p>“I have clay in my hair, stupid,” Steve stressed. Billy pretended to pout at him, flipped him off, and left to pick out a shirt. Steve rolled his eyes and growled but decided just to change his clothes, anyway. </p><p>Steve drove, since dinner was his treat, and only jumped a little when Billy turned the music on and cranked the volume up as loud as it would go. He let Billy be until Billy started rolling his window down and shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat for his cigs.</p><p>“Ay!” Steve barked at that, and turned the music down fast. “Don’t you dare.” Eyes still on the road, he managed to shove a threatening finger in Billy’s face.</p><p>“You better be shittin’ me, Harrington.” Billy growled in warning. Steve had the wherewithal to look affronted.</p><p>“Knock it off with the ‘Harrington’ bullshit, and stop being a child.” He answered. “You smoke in my car, you won’t think you’re hungry, and then in an hour we’ll be back to you acting like a dick. So no, I’m not shitting you, roll that window back up and leave it.” There was silence from the passenger seat for a minute or two before Billy pulled his hand slowly out of his pocket and rolled the window back up.</p><p>“You’re such a mom sometimes, it’s kind of a buzzkill.” Billy muttered, but Steve ignored it and rolled his eyes.</p><p>“I’m not a mom,” Steve answered. “You’re so dramatic.”</p><p>Billy smacked him on the arm. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told, pretty boy.” Billy rebutted, and Steve tried not to get too in his head about that one. “You are so totally the mom, the way you watched all those kids in high school, and act like you’ll chop my dick off if I smoke and <em> ruin my dinner </em>.”</p><p>“Billy,” Steve said in warning. Which, shit. That probably didn’t help his case. Just like that, Billy laughed, still sounding hungry and cruel.</p><p>“See? That right there. That voice right there? That’s your mom voice.”</p><p>“Whatever.” Steve groused.</p><p>“I’m finally fucking a mom,” Billy exclaimed to the windshield in wonder. Steve gagged, and Billy twisted in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw his taunting grin. “Don’t like that?” He asked. “How ‘bout <em> wife </em>?” He tested it out, and Steve couldn’t help the bit of red that flushed in his cheeks. Billy’s grin grew wider. “Yeah? You my little wifey Steve? Maybe I should get you an apron to wear around the house. You’d wear a pretty dress for me, wouldn’t you baby?”</p><p>Steve choked, cheeks now furiously red. “Shut uuup,” He said. Billy threw his head back when he laughed this time. Steve sent up a silent prayer of thanks as they turned into the parking lot at the back of the diner. </p><p> </p><p>They sat across from each other in the booth they were given, and Steve glanced over the menu as a formality. Billy was slouched across from him, legs spread indecently, sucking on his teeth. As much of a brat as Billy was when he was hungry, Steve never got tired of watching his entire demeanor change as he ate. That shit was <em>fucking hilarious</em>. Billy perked up the more he ate, still slumping in his seat but stormy face quickly lifting, and getting more talkative. He groaned obnoxiously around a mouthful of burger to prove to Steve that it was just as good as he remembered, weed or no weed. </p><p>When they were finished with their meals, Steve paid (as promised), and left a generous tip, and they meandered outside. It was getting dark, shadows falling and street lights on, but the sky was still a dusty blue and pink. </p><p>Billy chuckled as they stood for a second on the sidewalk, under one of the street lamps. He reached up and tugged on a drooping lock of Steve’s hair.</p><p>“You still got clay all over you,” He teased.</p><p>“Yeah, no <em>shit</em> I’ve got clay all over me. Someone was too impatient to let me take a shower before we went to eat.” He answered. He had felt the clay drying and pulling at his skin more and more, and weighing down the pieces of his hair it was stuck in, as the night had gone on.</p><p>Billy had the decency to look a little rueful. “Sorry about that, pretty boy. Rough day at work, had to skip lunch… you know how it is.” </p><p>“Billy?” A voice suddenly called from behind them. They both startled. “And Steve Harrington?” A small girl with her hair slicked back very tight into a high ponytail, wearing an oversized zoot suit blazer and a short, checkered, pleated skirt stood near the entrance to the diner with a few other girls. Steve squinted a little, trying hard to remember her. She might have been from Nancy and Billy’s class.</p><p>“Rudy,” Billy said with an easy, if disgustingly fake, smile. Of course. Rudy Marlowe. She had been in Nancy’s class, and Nancy had despised her. To be fair, Steve couldn’t remember what for, and Nancy <em> had </em>despised a lot of people. He thought she might have been a cheerleader?</p><p>“You look good,” Rudy smiled. Steve thought she looked like the Grinch, and snorted a little to himself.</p><p>“You do too,” Billy responded, sounding absent minded.</p><p>“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” She mentioned smoothly. “Lost my number or somethin’?”</p><p>“Or somethin’,” Billy answered with a grin. Steve smacked him as discreetly as he could and Billy waved him off.</p><p>“Well,” She demurred, and Steve really couldn’t tell whether she had gotten the hint or not. “If you want some company or anything, I’m free Friday night.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Billy said noncommittally.</p><p>Rudy did pick up on that one. She lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Oh? Did someone finally manage to catch the notorious Billy Hargrove? Who’s the lucky girl?”</p><p>“Nah,” Billy lied easily and smiled a little wider, more taunting. “Just not really interested.” </p><p>The change was immediate, and unsettling, if Steve was being honest. Rudy sniffed at Billy with a saccharine smile, and looked back at the girls she was with, who were all wearing a mix of closed off, guarded expressions. “We all hear stories about the ones who peaked in highschool.” She said. “It’s real sad Steve’s got himself a leech, gutter trash like Billy’ll suck him dry of all daddy’s money.”</p><p>“Don’t be mean to Steve,” One of the girls whispered. “He’s been wrecked since Nancy left him.” Steve tried to pretend he hadn’t heard that, but felt his face heat up all the way to his ears anyway.</p><p>“I would never,” Rudy cooed condescendingly, and he flushed harder, hunching his shoulders up a little. </p><p>Billy glanced at him, eyes hard as glass and face a hard blank slate, and called out, “Night, ladies,” before snatching the keys from Steve’s hand and motioning with two fingers for Steve to follow him to the car. Steve glanced back at them, wincing at their sympathetic expressions, and then they left.</p><p> </p><p>Billy drove. There was no music on, so all they heard was the buzz of the engine and a few whooshes of passing cars. Steve caught glimpses of Billy’s profile in the moving beams of the street lights. His jaw ticked every once in a while. After minutes of silence, when the diner had disappeared in the rearview, Billy lifted his fist with shocking speed and punched the dashboard three times. Steve jumped, and then settled fast to try and cover it up. Billy didn’t mention it, if he noticed.</p><p>When they parked along the street in front of their apartment building, Billy killed the engine to the car and sat back in the chair. Steve didn’t move either. They heard the engine pop and crackle as it settled, and there was a siren that started up somewhere in the distance, but otherwise the street was quiet. </p><p>“Billy, I’m -”</p><p>“If you try to fuckin’ apologize to me right now, I’ll -” Billy bit out and then cut himself off with a mean chuckle, sucked in a breath like he wanted to suck the words back. “Just don’t.” He amended, still sounding just as angry. Steve frowned.</p><p>“Ok.” He said. But he <em> wanted </em>to apologize. He wanted to tell Billy that what had happened back in front of the diner was high school shit - Rudy Marlowe had said what she’d said because she knew where it would hurt. Those words had been puffed up with air. There was no way that she actually knew anything, how hard Billy worked, what Billy was worth.</p><p>They sat silently in the car for a while longer, until Billy finally took a breath and pulled the keys from the ignition, opened the door and got out. Steve followed his lead, and when they joined on the sidewalk, Billy slung an arm over Steve’s shoulders. Steve lifted his hand and grabbed hold of Billy’s shirt at his opposite side.</p><p>Before they went inside, however, Billy stopped walking and squeezed Steve’s shoulder tightly, turning his head to rest it briefly on Steve’s.</p><p>“Thanks for letting me just… feel that, for a minute.” Billy said hesitantly. “Sorry if I scared you or whatever.”</p><p>Steve threw his other arm around Billy as well, holding him tight. “Don’t have to thank me,” He murmured into Billy’s neck. “I love you.”</p><p>“Love you too.” Billy whispered back.</p><p>“You ok?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Yeah, pretty boy. I’m ok.” Billy pulled away and smiled.</p><p>“Wanna talk about it?” </p><p>Billy arched an eyebrow at him. “Do I wanna talk about how people see me as your white trash charity case?” He asked sarcastically, pretending to really consider it. Steve’s cheeks flamed. “Hm… That’s gonna have to be a no from me, I think.”</p><p>“As long as that’s a no because you know how ridiculous and <em> not true </em> that is, that’s fine with me.” Steve answered.</p><p>Billy grinned darkly, a sad tint to the smile. “I mean, it’s a little true.”</p><p>Steve gasped at him, covered Billy’s eyes with both hands before sliding them over his face to cup both cheeks. “Billy, it is <em> not </em> - you are amazing, and I am so lucky to be with you, I -”</p><p>Billy’s face grew a little hot under Steve’s hands and Billy shuffled closer so he could burrow his face in Steve’s neck.</p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Harrington.” He mumbled. His lips tickled on Steve’s neck.</p><p>“I will <em> not </em>. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”</p><p>Billy was quiet for a minute before Steve <em> felt </em>the smirk spread across his lips.</p><p>“Princess wanted to have some fun with the lowlife from the bad part of town?” Billy asked.</p><p>“Don’t <em> talk </em>about yourself like that,” Steve tried to say sternly, but could tell from Billy’s voice that it was too late. He really shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Billy had a thing for the dramatics.</p><p>“Perfect baby Steve wanted to bring a big mean bad boy home to scare his proper rich parents, didn’t he?” Billy kept going, but obviously that idea was too funny for him to stay fully immersed in the scene, because he had to choke back a laugh.</p><p>For a second, Steve groaned in embarrassment at the idea of his parents actually staying in Hawkins (much less the state, or the country, for that matter) to meet Billy, especially at Billy’s most salacious. Then, he spared a quick thought to how desperately Billy wanted to be Swayze. He needed to ban romcoms from the house, for his own sanity.</p><p>“Believe it or not, scumbags like me can show <em> you </em>some of the finer things in life. Some things a sweet, innocent little rich boy like you would never dream of.” Billy continued, dropping his voice low so Steve could feel it vibrate in his chest. Then, Billy planted his tongue wide on Steve’s neck and licked all the way up his throat.</p><p>Steve shrieked and squirmed out of Billy’s arms.</p><p>“Bill, that’s so gross,” Steve said, affronted, pulling up the collar of his shirt to wipe his neck.</p><p>Billy winked and wagged his tongue at him.</p><p>“Don’t be so uptight, princess, I’ll show you how to have a good time. Loosen up a little.” He crouched, and before he could catch hold of Steve again, Steve bolted into the building. Billy gave a full belly laugh that Steve could hear echoing in the empty street behind him before the door swung back open again and Billy took chase.</p><p>For how much Billy played, when they fell into Steve’s bed, he was sweet to him.</p><p> </p><p>When Billy fell back down beside him, both tacky with sweat and huffing satisfied breaths, they were quiet for a moment. Then Billy turned back on his side and peered at Steve, whose eyes had fallen closed.</p><p>“Hey, uh, earlier… In the car, when I hit the dash?” Billy started, sounding hesitant. Steve opened his eyes again with some difficulty.</p><p>He hummed, hoping that was enough of a response to let Billy know he was listening. His brain was still buzzing. </p><p>“I didn’t scare you, did I?” Billy asked, his voice dropping off to almost a whisper.</p><p>Steve looked over at Billy sharply then, the street lights and night sky from the window silhouetting him and the warm, distant light from the hallway through the open door at Steve’s back falling softly over him. He was wearing a rare, open expression, eyebrows raised in concern.</p><p>“Of course not,” Steve assured him quickly.</p><p>Billy looked reproachful now, and Steve smoothed out the frown lines on his face with his fingertips.</p><p>“You jumped,” He said in a tone that breached no argument. “You jumped, you can’t say you weren’t scared. But I promise I’d never hurt you, I’m sorry for gettin’ so angry, I shouldn’t have -”</p><p>“Bill - Billy, Billy,” Steve rushed to cut him off, pushing himself up onto one elbow. “I wasn’t scared of you. You startled me, that’s all. I’m not scared of you, I <em> love you </em>.”</p><p>“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” Billy mumbled, suddenly not meeting Steve’s eyes. Steve felt that. His heart hurt for his boy.</p><p>“Ok.” Steve said. He lay awake sometimes, wishing death on Neil Hargrove. He couldn’t argue with Billy, though: for as wrong as it felt, for as terrible as it was, that didn’t make it any less true. “Do you trust me?” Billy paused for a moment, watching him, and nodded. </p><p>“Of course.” He answered.</p><p>“Then trust me.” Steve said simply.</p><p>Billy paused again, looking at Steve for a long moment. Then he smiled slowly and pulled Steve close. “Ok.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bambi (by Hippo Campus)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's a long one... but hopefully worth it? I spent the first two chapters on so much fluff that I really had to pack some angst in here. Also I know it bugs the shit out of me usually but this chap has a couple oc's in it. It happened pretty organically though so hopefully it doesn't pull you out of the story to much... peace :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning, Steve woke up before Billy. He was laying spread eagle on the bed with Billy curled tight around him and blowing his morning breath right up in Steve’s face. They had kicked the sheets to the foot of the bed at some point while they slept because they both slept hot, but Steve still woke sweaty, mouth dry.  He shimmied out of Billy’s hold (which took some doing) and left him in the bed to take a cool shower and move into the kitchen.</span>
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  <span>It was only 8. </span>
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  <span>So, he gathered up an old half loaf of bread, eggs, cinnamon, and vanilla extract, and started making french toast. As the first round of french toast was sizzling in the pan he had over the stove, he turned and started the coffee going, too, whistling some teenie bopper tune that had been playing in the diner the night before and got stuck in his head. As the smells started to swell and travel down the hallway, Steve finally heard Billy stir and the shower start. Steve started flipping finished pieces of toast onto a large plate beside the stove.</span>
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  <span>As he was clicking the burner off, their landline started to ring.</span>
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  <span>Steve hopped over to the phone, wiping his hands on the towel beside the sink. Billy shuffled into the room and grabbed a clean mug from the cabinet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, this is Steve,” He said brightly, as Billy absently kissed his cheek and ran a hand from his waist across the small of his back on the way to the coffee pot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a William Hargrove there?” A stiff, older man’s voice came through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s asking, please?” He asked. Billy snorted, because he always joked that Steve talked on the phone like some prim operator. Steve soundlessly chuckled back because Billy was absolutely garbage at talking on the phone - he got gruff and flustered which meant he got short and mean, and Steve never got tired of how funny that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is his father.” The man on the other side of the phone bit out. “Now put my son on the line.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve froze. Billy hadn’t noticed yet. Steve shot a glance over at him to find him leaning casually against the counter, staring very openly at Steve’s ass over the coffee mug at his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is no one here by that name, sorry.” He said, trying to keep his voice level. Billy’s eyes snapped up to meet his and he tilted his head in confusion. Steve shook his head, a little frantic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he is.” The voice on the line replied, taunting and slow but with an undercurrent of anger that Steve found bone chilling. “Put him on the phone now, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Steve responded. “You have the wrong number. Don’t call here again.” The man on the other end had started to say something, voice rising quickly to a grating shout, but Steve hung up the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” Billy asked incredulously. Steve turned around and fell back against the counter, out of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… Billy, that was your dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line started ringing again and they both stared blankly at the line. After a few beats, Steve glanced at Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to…” He began, but didn’t know what to offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t respond. They let the call ring through, and since they hadn’t bought an answering machine yet, the call just… stopped after the last ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do we do?” Steve asked. He shouldn’t be afraid. He wasn’t, really. They had dealt with worse than Neil Hargrove, but this </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ringing started again and, steely, he snatched up the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, there is no one here by the name that you are trying to reach. I asked you not to call here again. I don’t know how you found this number, but lose it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the scrawny little pillow biter from William’s highschool, aren’t you?” Neil asked, voice sickly sweet and evil. Just evil. Steve could tell through the phone that the man was wearing a cruel smile on his face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I thought I recognized that name. Still playing cockwarmer to my son, I see.” Steve felt his face burn, mouth open, and then the phone was ripped out of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The fuck d’you get this number?” Billy growled into the phone. Steve heard the tinny sounds of laughter from the receiver. He shakily raised a hand and grabbed a hold of Billy’s t shirt, right at the bottom - not to get his attention or anything, just to… ground them both maybe? Just because.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice on the other end of the line just kept talking. Billy’s face was schooled into a dead stare at the opposite wall. Slowly, his mouth began cringing up into a tight snarl. Steve thought he heard his name again a few times and he tightened his fist in Billy’s t shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok. You’re done. My turn now, and you listen close. If I hear you so much as step into my part of town, anywhere near my shop again, anywhere near Steve, anywhere near Max or Susan, I will come at you and beat you so hard you won’t know who you are anymore. You know I know the police around here now. I won’t think twice about turning you in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forget who I am</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He slammed the phone down onto the receiver and seamlessly turned to Steve and gathered him up into his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve returned the hug quick, pressing his face hard enough into Billy’s neck that he could feel his rapid pulse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Steve shushed him. He felt Billy’s fingers flex and drag at his back. Billy finally took a deep breath and lifted his head, still holding onto Steve tightly. His eyes were dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m ok.” He confirmed softly. And he honestly sounded it. As ok as could be expected, Steve guessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he say?” Steve asked. “What did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>? How did he even get our number?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He called over to the shop.” Billy grumbled. “The guys over there don’t know our history. Neil’s in a real tough spot. Turns out without Susan’s salary, he couldn’t afford the house or half of his… </span>
  <em>
    <span>hobbies</span>
  </em>
  <span>, spouted off the usual ‘you owe me’ bullshit, just lookin’ for money that turned to threats real fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Threats?” Steve asked. Billy ran a hand over Steve’s hair and left the hand on the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let it get that far. I’ve been talking to Hop about how to get a restraining order. What did he say to you before I took the phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked away uncomfortably and shrugged. “Just called me some shit. He said he remembered me from highschool - he even remembered my name. Which is crazy, because I think I remember seeing him… once? Twice, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugged. “He’s a paranoid bastard.” He offered by way of explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmmed </span>
  </em>
  <span>absently and they let the kitchen fall quiet. After a while, he said a little sheepishly, “Well, I made french toast. Are you hungry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Billy answered, rubbing his arm. “Let’s eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spent the rest of that Sunday in the apartment, trying to settle each other. Billy said he would leave early the next day to file the restraining order with Hopper. They made sandwiches for lunch, and had beer and cereal for dinner, and let the sun set on their apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though Sunday was subdued, by Monday the shock had worn off enough to leave Billy with a stifling anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banging from the bathroom and kitchen, stomping and hissed cursing woke Steve up before the sun rose, though he briefly thought it was only fair for him to be awake if Billy had to be, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed in bed for a while, though, staring at the ceiling and listening to Billy’s movements. Wondered what he could do to help Billy feel better, but thought it probably safer to give him space for a while instead. After a while, he got up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twice more that week, the phone rang and Neil Hargrove was on the other line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve answered the first time. He had had a half day at the warehouse so Billy hadn’t gotten home yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He answered with his usual, “Hi, this is Steve!” The other line had crackled with dead air for a few beats before Steve tried again. “Hello?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put my son on the phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was the one to fall silent this time. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Sir, you need to stop calling this number -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something on the other line crashed in the background and when Neil started again it was in a gurgling roar. “You put -” Steve hung up on him. He didn’t mention the call to Billy, either, when he came home, but the way he kept glancing at the phone was probably enough to clue him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two nights later, Neil called again, and Billy answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H’llo,” Billy grunted, and from the way he went still, Steve knew right away who it was. Billy didn’t stay quiet for very long. “Hey, you know what a restraining order means, you sorry piece o’ shit? Means this shit you’re pulling with calling me right now can put you right in jail. You wanna go to jail? Because I’m more than happy to send you there. I find out you called this number one more time and you’re done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he slammed the phone back down on its port.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve watched him from the couch as Billy grabbed a beer can from the fridge, cracked it open with his teeth, and swallow probably half the can before passing the back of his hand roughly over his mouth and then rubbing one eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we think about getting a new number?” Steve asked. Billy grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t afford that. Plus all the kids know this one by heart.” He answered. “He doesn’t know where we live, and the guys at the shop know to look out for him now.” He walked around and into the living room to sit on the coffee table in front of Steve, looking at him seriously. “I’m not scared of him. You don’t gotta worry about me. I’m done playing his games, and I’m never going to let him </span>
  <em>
    <span>make me</span>
  </em>
  <span> do anything ever again. That includes making me hide from him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite Billy’s claim, Steve could see the pent up energy that made Billy antsy, the anxiety that made him vibrate. So he leapt at the chance when Robin called them up and told them about a basement show with some local bands happening that weekend. He chomped at the bit for the two days leading to the concert. Steve listened as he bounced and stomped around the apartment all Saturday, shaking out his fingers. He was making pasta for dinner, to carb up before </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopefully</span>
  </em>
  <span> drinking very heavily later on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was washing his hands in the bathroom when Billy slithered up behind him, running his hands up and down Steve’s ribs and kissing his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you let me pick you out something to wear tonight, baby?” Billy asked in a deep rumbling voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked at him and narrowed his eyes a little. “Depends,” he said warily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy pouted at him. “Please?” He asked, bringing up one hand to scratch the hair at the base of Steve’s head. Steve closed his eyes briefly, pretending to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” He finally sighed. “Ok, what am I wearing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha ha!” Billy exclaimed, and bolted back to the bedrooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve followed him, and wasn’t exactly shocked when he went into his own room instead of Steve’s first. When Steve tried to go into the room to watch, Billy shooed him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” He insisted. “Go grab plates for us and whatever you want to drink. Probably some beer, we’ll pregame some. You can get dressed after food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After I’m bloated and gross from pasta?” Steve asked, eyeing the crop tops Billy was currently comparing to each other with skeptical distaste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Billy groused, distracted. “I’m carefully crafting an outfit to show every goddamn person at this house show you’re the hottest piece there. Now go eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve left the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy went back and forth between their bedrooms a few times, carrying different articles of clothing each time, before finally walking into the room with a particular swagger that made Steve more nervous than he had been before. On his way to the table, Billy swiped up the nasty bottle of vodka he had grabbed from the store for that night and poured two shots in a row into a cheesy little shot glass with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sunny California!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stickers printed on it. They had a set, tourist trinkets that Dustin had gotten him as a housewarming present. Then he cut a slice of lime to set beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Body shot?” He asked hopefully. Steve wrinkled his nose and shook his head. Billy shrugged. He knocked the shots back hard and grimaced, pulling his lips back into a sneer so he could rub the lime over his teeth, slurping obscenely and then shaking his head back and forth real fast. Steve contented himself with a beer, since he was driving. “Woo!” Billy shouted, shivering. “Been too long.” And then he bounced over to the table and slid into a seat, spreading his legs wide and letting out a long sigh. By the way his shoulders released in increments and he looked more and more relaxed, Steve could watch the alcohol taking effect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy ate his food with a smug smile, the hard lines around his eyes slowly smoothing out, and pointedly scooped more pasta onto Steve’s plate to even out their portions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, pretty boy, time to get dressed up,” Billy said, delighted, licking his teeth. Steve wondered how Billy made his eyes glint like an old timey cartoon villain. But, with trepidation, he left to his bedroom to see what he was wearing. And…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Honestly, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dark, warm green sweater that was cropped just a little short, to fall right at the tops of his hip bones was laying on the bed. Next to it was Billy’s old black jean jacket that hung big off Steve’s shoulders. Hanging off the edge of the bed was an old pair of acid wash jeans that he thought he had thrown out because he had torn massive holes in both knees the only time he had tried skating with Max. On the floor in front of the bed lay a pair of heavy black leather boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you dig these pants outta the trash, Bill?” Steve called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding? With how your ass looks in those things you’d have to pry them from my dead cold hands.” Billy called back. Steve huffed, but smiled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shameless</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had thrown the dishes in the sink and run water over them quickly, then headed to his own room to change as well. Steve slipped into the clothes and tugged the boots on and slipped into the bathroom to put a tiny scoop of gel into his hair before spritzing it with hairspray. He told himself he couldn’t get too invested in how his hair looked, since he already knew that by the end of the night he was going to sweat all of the product out and it would fall limp on his forehead anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve jumped when Billy cleared his throat from where he was leaning against the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, how long you been standin’ there?” He asked, but lost his train of thought after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was wearing his heavy work boots, scuffed and covered in motor oil, a pair of his nicer black jeans that hugged him just tight enough, and an old Ratt sweatshirt that he had cut into a choppy crop top himself, so short that it stopped just under his pecs. He had his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a couple rings on each finger, and three necklaces ringing his neck. A silver cross dangled from his ear. He had put a little mousse in his hair, Steve thought, just to muss his curls up and let them go wild. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>kicker, though, where Steve really got caught up, was the black smudged delicately around Billy’s eyes. Just liner, drawn on like kohl. It turned Billy’s eyes into sharp, smoldering cats eyes, wild and dangerous and self satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like somethin’ you see, baby boy?” Billy drawled. “‘Cuz I sure do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stared at Billy in disbelief. “You look like a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sex god</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He delivered the line a little more deadpanned than intended, sure, but it had to be said. “We’re not even on the same planet right now, you’re so out of my league.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sauntered up behind where Steve was still at the sink, tossed his jacket on the counter, and caged him in, slithering his arms under Steve’s and planting them either side. “Flattery’ll get your dick sucked,” Billy joked. “But baby, you look like everyone’s wet dream. There’s just one last part of your outfit, ready?” He asked. Steve narrowed his eyes at him, which made Billy kiss his neck and shoulder placatingly. “Please?” He asked, glancing up demurely from under his dark lids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighed. “Alright,” He said. “What is it?” Billy grabbed his waist and turned him around, drew him in for a wet kiss. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a tube of lipgloss. Steve stared at it, dismayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious?” He asked. Billy crossed his heart with his finger. Steve tried to look at Billy with a stern, threatening glare, but it didn’t seem to be working. “Alright, fine.” He rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he was going to regret letting Billy do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached for the gloss, but Billy snatched it away, holding it out of Steve’s grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna do it.” Billy said. Steve pursed his lips and scowled at him a little, and Billy ran his other hand over Steve’s side to calm him down. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve let out a short sigh and crossed his arms. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy swooped in to kiss him one more time, and Steve could taste the triumphant smile on the other’s mouth. It tasted gross, and bitter, like vodka, and lime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He uncapped the gloss, which was tinted a blush pink, and gingerly touched it to Steve’s bottom lip. The gloss was warm, and spread smoothly. Billy just put it on his bottom lip, and then ordered him to rub his lips together to even it all out. The texture was tacky and thick, and it smelled like banana, but the way Billy looked at him… Billy looked at him like he was the hottest thing around, and it made a warm buzz that felt just a little different than the buzz of alcohol settle in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy pushed him back around to look at himself in the mirror, bringing one hand up to settle on his collar bones and palming his ass with the other hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked himself over critically in the mirror. His lips looked… suggestively pink. And wet. He smirked, and Billy chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” He encouraged. “You look good.” And, wasting no more time, Billy took Steve by the jaw, tilted his head to the side, and sucked a hickey into his neck. Steve let him, melted into it a little. After a few beats, Billy turned him back around to look in the mirror one more time, surveying the red mark to make sure it was just right, and then they were ready to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve drove them to the show, which was out of town by a few miles, in a suburb. Steve had been to the neighborhood before sometime in highschool for a party. It was a relatively quiet neighborhood. The spot was easy to find, the house blocked in by ten or more cars and a big van. There were lights strung up out back, and music and voices already swelling. Billy was tapping his fingers on the dash. Steve pulled his car up into the front yard next to an SUV and a massive jacked up pickup with a big American flag hanging flaccid on a pole sticking out of the trunk. Billy reached into the backseat when the car turned off and pulled out the vodka, and two cans of beer for chasers. He took two heavy gulps of the liquor before popping open the beer and chugging it. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he handed the bottle to Steve with a mean grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bottoms up,” He said. Steve steeled himself for the way the alcohol was going to hit him right behind the teeth and took two swallows, coughing as he yanked the beer Billy opened for him out of his hand and gargled with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy took another swallow and a half of vodka, his plan to get nice and wasted. Once the beers were finished, Billy crushed the cans and threw them to the floor, and then stashed the vodka in the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve rubbed his lips together again, back and forth, and could still feel the slide of the lipgloss. Billy pushed himself over the center console and nosed at Steve’s neck before scraping his teeth over Steve’s skin and kissing it languidly, pressing his tongue before following it with a caress of his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere between the alcohol and arousal, Steve felt a pleasant flush all over, knew his cheeks were red but didn’t care, knew he looked just a little fucked out but didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hopped out of the car and joined back up again. Billy swung his arm over Steve’s shoulders and Steve grabbed that hand, lacing their fingers together. They walked through the grass around the side of the house, where the patio was milling with fifteen or so people. There were chairs set around, and a table up at the back of the patio, stationed between them and the dark, that was functioning as a bar. It was stacked with open coolers and buckets full of ice and cans and bottles of drinks. There was even a man behind the table, shaking a metal cocktail mixer and pouring a drink into a plastic cup for the girl standing in front of him. The girl passed him a folded up bill and darted away, into the house through the open back door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music thumped from inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made it!” Someone called from against the wall of the house. Steve and Billy pivoted slightly and watched Robin walk toward them, tossing aside the dead end of a blunt and waving smoke that she blew from her nose away. She was wearing baggy pants with loads of pockets and a tight black henley. She had forgone any makeup, except for the black mascara that seemed to constantly be smeared around her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped as she got closer though, and dropped her mouth open dramatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dingus, you look hot!” She exclaimed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugged. “I let Billy pick it out.” He admitted sheepishly. Robin extended her fist to Billy, who bumped her knuckles with a smirk. She handed them two small pins with smiley faces that had x’s through their eyes that she told them to pin on their jackets, as proof that she had already paid the cover charge for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, fuckers, into the den.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They followed her into the house, past the sliding glass doors. The kitchen they walked into was dark except for a light over the sink and nondescript. There was a couple whispering to each other in the corner next to the sink. The floor shook with the raging volume of the show downstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The openers are wrapping up their set,” Robin shouted over her shoulder at them. “They’re alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She led them around the corner into a hallway to the steps into the basement. The door was propped open with a stack of textbooks. Walking toward the slim staircase, Billy let his arm fall from Steve’s shoulders, but Steve kept a firm hold of his fingers. They felt the thrumming of the bass in the middle of their rib cages, and Billy had started jumping up and down a little in anticipation of getting right out into the fray. They clattered out onto the landing of the staircase, peering into the smoky, muggy, unfinished basement with a small crowd of people all with their backs to them. The floor was concrete and the only furniture in the place was one high top table in the back corner and two couches pushed up against the back wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few people in the back of the crowd looked at them as they entered. There was a heat in their eyes that Steve couldn’t quite identify and fought the urge to step behind Billy. It seemed like it had been eons since the last time he had been at a party like this. Billy grinned like a shark at the people who were staring at them and tugged Steve forward, weaving in and out of the people so they were staring at the stage. They stood close enough that their shoulders bumped against each other. Already, the heat was heavy, from the bodies around them and the big flashing portable lights they had set up at the front of the stage, but even Steve could feel it like an energy. He could feel it all the way to his vodka-numbed fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The band on the stage played two more songs, and Robin was right, they were ok. It was a typical hair band, guitars crashing and bass felt in your feet, all of it so loud and so close that if you weren’t paying attention it all just became noise. The bandmates were all wearing torn up mechanic’s shirts, with the arms ripped off and big sweat stains under their arms and all the way down their sides, and the shirts all open on their shiny chests. Their hair was wiry and teased to stand straight out if it wasn’t caked on the sides of their faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin had split from them for a moment to track down Heather and brought her back beside them. Heather was wearing a sea green sweater with a tight brown skirt and fishnets, and her hair was down for a change, held back with a little headband. She waved at them, excited, and Steve reached over to hug her briefly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The band on stage finished their last song, the vocalist thanked the crowd for listening and hyped up the headliners as the other members of his band walked around the stage and unplugged and packed up their instruments. While they packed up, Billy turned to Steve, grinned a soft smile that looked lazily sensual with his eyeliner, and swooped in so his mouth brushed Steve’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for doing this with me,” He said. Steve pecked his cheek and nodded, pulling back so Billy could see his smile. Billy swooped back in for a quick but open mouth kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin smacked Billy’s arm before they could get too distracted, and pointed toward the stage. The headliners were filing on, carrying their instruments. The bassist was a tall blonde girl wearing dominatrix leather and red heels that laced up all the way to her knees. She had a deceptively innocent, pouty face, but she looked at someone in the crowd right in front of them and flirtily stuck out her tongue to show a glinting stud in the center of it. The guitarist was a heavy set girl wearing cargo pants and a muscle tank, hair buzzed on both sides. Steve could see her knuckles, which all looked like they had been scabbed over heavily. The guy who stomped his way to the drumset was massive, with hefty muscle and a glinting nose ring in one nostril. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, didn’t need one, not with the thick chest hair that curled against his chest like he had just run his fingers through it. Steve got a little dry mouthed, if he was being totally honest. The man who swaggered his way over to the mic had his hair slicked back like a greaser, and he was wearing all leather too. He was slender, but his bare chest was covered in mean, sharp looking tattoos. He was pierced to hell, too. He had gauges swinging from his ears, snake bites, nipple piercings, both nostrils pierced twice, one eyebrow had three tiny rings in it. His tongue was pierced, and he ran his tongue out over his lips and pulled it back in so the piercing snagged on his teeth like he loved the way it pulled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve felt the nervous energy swell in his chest again as the bandmates swept their eyes over the crowd and everyone in the room was buzzing, ready to amp it up and get rough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey babies.” The vocalist purred from the stage. Steve’s heart jumped. That was all the introduction they got, and the drummer lifted his arms above his head and struck his sticks together hard, and the first song started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a pretty experimental metal band, Robin had told them, who had driven out from Chicago on their way to the coast, and maybe New York. They dabbled in some of the death metal genre that had gotten popular when Steve and Billy had still been in highschool, and they were messing around with this new grunge stuff that had only been around for a couple years. It wasn’t the music Steve would usually listen to, but he liked the way he could feel the music rattling his teeth. And, alright, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good music</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some kids off to one side started getting rowdy at the vocalist’s croons and shouts and raspy screams. The second time Steve got knocked over a little into Billy by a stray elbow, and rubbed the sore spot where he got hit, Billy switched places with him, pulling him into his other side and widening his stance, planting his feet firmly. Steve slipped his hand into the back pocket of Billy’s jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed for two or so more songs, watching the twenty some odd idiots try to start a mosh pit in a basement in amusement, before tugging on Billy’s shirt and angling his mouth up to Billy’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go get a drink, want one?” He shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy nodded, then turned his head sharply to lick Steve’s ear. Steve pushed him away with a laugh, and then caught his eye knowingly and nodded toward the mosh pit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on,” He yelled. Even if Billy couldn’t hear him, he’d catch his drift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy looked at him and cocked his head. Steve nodded reassuringly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back,” He mouthed. “With drinks.” He mimed putting a cup to his lips. “Go.” Billy swooped in one more time and kissed Steve’s mouth, smiling against it, and then turned around and darted into the midst of the crowd, already laughing. Steve shook his head and turned around to Robin and Heather, motioning that he was going to get a drink. They both shot him a thumbs up. So, he turned around and wove his way out of the crowd and upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the direct line of the waves of sound, his ears felt stopped up and any other noise seemed distant. There were fewer people outside now. One or two members of the opening band were wandering around, lounging on chairs in the cool air. Steve walked up to the guy mixing drinks and shot him a friendly smile. The other guy smirked back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, hello, what can I get ya?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you got?” He asked him. “Jack and coke, maybe? Two?” The bartender nodded easily and bent under the table to snag the bottle of jack daniels and two cups. He poured heavy, Steve noticed, as he was pulling out his wallet to thumb through the cash he had brought with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bartender was kind of a dorky looking guy. Not in a mean way, Steve didn’t think. And he was definitely in his element. But he was wearing a worn out Dig Dug t shirt and a sweater, and loose jeans that hung over beat up converse. Steve wondered briefly if this was what Dustin was going to be in college and beyond: The kid who labeled himself the Drinks Guy, who made sure he could have fun at parties by giving himself a job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your night going?” Someone spoke in his ear all of a sudden. Steve jumped and turned around. It was one of the openers, the one who had been playing keyboard? He had longer hair, straight and soft looking, and had put a grey canvas jacket on top of his ripped up mechanics shirt, though it was still unbuttoned. He was loosely holding a bottle of beer in one hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, thanks,” Steve answered amiably. “Got here a little late so I only caught the last couple songs you all played, but you were really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other guy smiled, and his cheeks dimpled in a warm way. “Thanks, we have a lot of fun doing it. Couldn’t tour like the band playing now, but. Gives us something to do.” He looked at Steve’s face for a minute, and Steve noticed his eyes flickering to his lips and back up again to his face. “Hey listen,” He started again, sauntering forward a little and catching up the bottom of Steve’s sweater between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing the soft fabric a little. “Can I buy your drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiled a little awkwardly. “Thanks for offering, but I’m getting two drinks. I’m here with my boyfriend.” He stepped back and pulled his sweater out of the guy’s grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw shit,” The keyboardist said easily. “That’s just my luck. Happy for your man, though. Can I buy you those drinks anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want,” Steve responded with a shrug, smiling more open at him now. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Scott, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, Steve. You from around here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Close by, yeah. Grew up here. I’ve actually been to this neighborhood for a party before,” Steve laughed. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m from Bloomington, actually. Moved down here after my pops got sick. It’s not so bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bartender finished his drinks and Scott forked over the cash for them. The bartender took it with a salute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heading back down?” Steve asked. Scott nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind if I tag along with you and your boy?” He asked in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course not, come on. My ‘boy’ is trying to mosh with, like, 10 people in a basement in a suburb. It’ll be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott laughed and followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They descended back into the dark of the basement, where most everyone had joined in in a toned down mosh in front of the stage, leaving the people who just wanted to stand back and watch toward the back. Heather and Robin had moved near the back. Robin was facing the stage and Heather was wrapped loosely around her, and tossed the occasional look over her shoulder. She waved when she caught Steve’s eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked behind him to make sure Scott was still following, and jerked his head in the girls’ direction. Scott nodded to show he understood. The girls waved at Scott in greeting and he waved casually back, but Steve was watching the waves of people up at the front, wincing a little as he saw a few points of contact - elbows and fists to faces and sides and stomachs, looking for Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, his boyfriend stood up right in the middle of the roiling group after the last song ended. Billy turned his back on the stage and was looking intently over everyone’s faces. Steve raised one cup and Billy’s eyes locked onto his, and he darted forward. When Billy finally came up to him, though, he felt a jolt of panic go through him. Billy took the cup out of his hand and was about to bring it up to his lip when he caught sight of Steve’s worried expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently Billy had been one of the unlucky bastards who had gotten caught on someone’s elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your lip is bleeding,” He yelled at Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, baby,”  Billy yelled back, sticking out his tongue and swiping it through the line of blood that was dripping down his chin. Steve smacked him on the arm for being so gross, and then gently laid a hand on his face, pulling his chin down so that Billy’s mouth dropped open a little and his bottom lip pouted out. Sure enough, there was a clean split. It hadn’t swelled up at all yet, so it must have just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was watching him expectantly, which he hadn’t noticed till just then, so he rolled his eyes and let go of Billy’s face. Billy took that opportunity to pull Steve against him and raise his cup to his lips, chugging the whole thing in one go. Some of it poured out the sides of Billy’s mouth and ran in rivulets down his chin and neck and chest, and when he was done he slung his head from side to side and shouted, and then swooped down and kissed Steve. He tasted like alcohol and just a little bit like the tang of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next song was starting up, starting with a pounding bass solo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna come with me, pretty boy?” Billy asked Steve, voice carrying better now as everyone quieted down just a little to wait for the swell of the music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I can get socked in the face? No thanks,” Steve answered, looping a finger into one of Billy’s belt loops to pull him back in and kiss his neck, which was sticky with jack and coke now. “Be </span>
  <em>
    <span>careful</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He said. Couldn’t help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These hicks ain’t got nothin’ on me. I can handle ‘em, don’t worry,” Billy answered boisterously, laughing. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wifey</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve hadn’t had any of his new drink, so he couldn’t blame the flush of his cheeks on the fresh booze yet. But then the drums came in, leading to the first drop in the song, and Steve grabbed Billy’s empty cup from him to slide under his own full one, and he pushed him out into the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Steve looked back at Robin, Heather, Scott, and one of Scott’s other band members who had found them, Scott was grinning ruefully and said, “Your boy’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>chaos</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you won’t tell him I tried to pick you up, will you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They claim one of the couches along the back wall with their jackets, which they all throw off as the basement gets muggier. Steve finished off his drink with respectable speed and set the cups down beside the couch too, even joked with Scott after catching him staring at his ass while he’s bent over, said he could throw Scott to Billy and the dogs in the pit if he wasn’t careful. His bandmate, Dash, chortled at that, smacking Scott in the arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bassist sang a couple of slow songs later on, and Billy came back to find him again. He took his jacket and sweatshirt off, just as sweaty as the tatted and pierced singer on stage, hooked his hands around Steve’s lower back and swayed with him. Steve put both hands on Billy’s cheeks and tried not to get too fretful over a new cut on Billy’s cheekbone, directly below his left eye, that was definitely swelling. Billy’s skin was turning cool as his sweat dried. Billy turned a little and kissed his palm. He didn’t go back into the pit after the last two songs jacked up the pace again. It was then, also, that he noticed the additions to their group, leaned over and bumped Scott and Dash’s fists with his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the slow songs, Billy leaned over and promised he wouldn’t go back in the pit if Steve would come closer to the front with him, and Steve nodded. Billy grinned and tugged at Steve’s wrist, leading him back into the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settled closer to the stage, and Billy circled Steve and came up behind him, arms around Steve’s waist and chin on his shoulder as the band played their final songs. Honestly, Steve was glad. The buzz of alcohol had worn off, and it was late and he was tired, and as lethargically happy as he was that Billy was soaking all this in and getting what he needed, he was ready for the concert to be over. He became more and more distracted by the sweaty, dragging touches of the people around him, even with Billy fending off what he could. He became more and more aware of the hot, panting breaths of the band and of the few people still moshing up front. It was just too much, even for a small show like this. He became more aware of how low the ceiling hung and the heavy darkness and the flashing strobe lights, and (unsurprisingly, at this point, really) felt the first twinges of a headache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he just leaned back against Billy and let it happen. Took a couple of deep breaths. Closed his eyes. He was so distracted trying to pull himself back into his own body that he missed the whole last song the band was playing, and startled back to himself as the people around him started clapping, and Billy yelled at his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This band mimicked the first one, as they wandered around the stage and picked up their equipment, spare towels they had used to mop the sweat off their foreheads through the show, a couple of partially drank water bottles. As the crowd started to disperse, Billy tugged once at the back of Steve’s sweater and then started walking away, quick to get lost. Steve sighed and hung back, waiting for another opening in the waves, when a hand slid up under his sweater and lay flat on his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After having spent all night numbing himself to being in a crowd, his brain was sluggish to respond. It didn’t feel like Billy’s hand... Robin would never, he didn’t know Heather that well… Maybe she was really wasted? Was Scott playing some joke on him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was a sharp chin on his shoulder, and heavy whiskey breath in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve Harrington,” A younger boy’s slurred voice trilled in his ear. “I thought that was you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve tried to wriggle away from him, careful not to hurt him still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jarod?” He asked after a moment. He recognized him, barely, as a boy who had gone to a bunch of Nancy’s study groups back in highschool. Jarod had been a year behind Nancy, even, but had taken a lot of AP classes. Steve honestly wasn’t sure if he was even legal yet, and he didn’t look it. He was sweating and jittery, short blonde hair wet and stringy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah-huh,” He said, smiling wide and falling back onto him. He caught him instinctively under the arms, jerking a little when he palmed the front of his jeans. Trying to be as gentle as he could, he pushed him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no, stop. You’re - Jarod, I don’t want...” He stuttered, and pushed his hand away when he started reaching for his dick again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flashed suddenly, cloudiness vanished. “You can’t tell me you don’t want me after we all knew you were such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>slut </span>
  </em>
  <span>back in school. It’s not because I have a dick, is it? Because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>about you and Hargrove.” Steve balked. Jarod reached out and grabbed the front of Steve’s sweater, pulling him close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jarod, you’re… drunk, or high, or whatever, but you need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve said, trying to sound firm but not quite feeling… present, or all there. He could hear the tremor in his own voice, but couldn’t have done a thing to stop it. He shoved an arm in front of him, across Jarod’s chest, and tried to push away, but Jarod craned his neck over top and tried to plant his clammy lips on Steve’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked around wildly, looking for… anyone, really. Anyone. Billy, Robin… But there was still a thick crowd of people at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for their chance to climb up into the night, and no one else was looking his way. Then he turned back to the stage and caught the eyes of the blond leather girl, who was watching them sharply. There must have been something that she saw in his face when they made eye contact because she got the attention of the drummer and pointed at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jarod was getting more frantically insistent, hot mouth suctioned to Steve’s neck, and he desperately wedged his knee in between them and pushed. Jarod stumbled away, and Steve saw his eyes clear again with jilted hurt and rage. When he wound his fist back and struck Steve across the cheek, he really wasn’t all that surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chick on stage grabbed one of the mics that was still hot and brought it to her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, motherfucker, you back the fuck up </span>
  <em>
    <span>right the fuck now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She yelled into the mic. Everyone in the whole place stilled. The drummer had wedged his way between Jarod and Steve and placed a solid shove right to Jarod’s sternum with his shoulder, and Jarod’s arms pinwheeled as he went down, landing hard on the concrete floor. “This ain’t that kinda show, buddy, you get the fuck out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I paid -” Jarod spat. The girl raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I look like I give a shit?” She asked. The drummer was crowding Jarod to the stairs, not giving him an inch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s ears were ringing, and his face tingled from where the hit had landed, and he was sure his face was burning. The girl let go of the mic she had been holding and went over to him, her heels clicking. He noticed gratefully that got near enough to talk to him but otherwise kept her distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ok?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Steve trailed off. She nodded like she understood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name’s Veronica,” She told him, and smiled. “Where’s blondie?” When he looked at her, confused, she grinned and rolled her eyes. “The guy you were with. Boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Billy,” He answered softly. “Uh, I don’t know - how did you…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was watching you all, while we were playing. Small shows like this are fun that way, where you get to see the people while you perform. And you two were hands down the hottest things here.” She winked. Steve felt his face burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” He said softly, reaching up to rub his cheek, which was already swelling a little, and really tender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t rub it too much, sweetie, we’ll get you some ice here in a second.” She told him. “And here blondie comes, anyway.” She smirked, looking behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his head to see the drummer pulling Billy along by his arm. Billy cursed and tugged at the drummer’s grip furiously until he met Steve’s eyes. Then, he went soft and concerned and the drummer did finally let him go so he could run over to Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby I’m so sorry,” Billy fretted, checking Steve over, running his hands up and down his arms until finally reaching up to just barely cradle his cheeks and get a look at what Steve was sure was a nicely forming bruise. Honestly, Steve didn’t know how he felt. Part of him wanted to crawl up Billy and hide as close to inside his boyfriend’s skin as he could get, and part of him felt his skin crawl as Billy touched him, and it started to make him sick. He was just… What did Doctor Ben call it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Overstimulated</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Whatever the fuck it was, his anxiety had ramped up double time since Jarod had been taken care of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pull </span>
  </em>
  <span>your boyfriend off the jackass we kicked out.” The drummer grunted.  Veronica smiled approvingly, and Steve huffed, nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t -” He began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you have some shit to say about me gettin’ into any more fights, you better keep that to yourself.” Billy threatened. “Why’d that shithead even punch you in the first place? You weren’t even doing anything -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve winced a little and caught Veronica’s eye. She was looking at him expectantly - like she would take her cue from him, she wouldn’t tell anyone anything he didn’t want her to. He felt another jolt of anxiety and screwed his eyes shut for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve?” Billy said softly, sounding surprised. Cautious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was, uh, some dude named Jarod. From high school. He was a year under you? I kind of knew him. Recognized him, I mean. Anyway, he - uh - I mean… groped me, I guess?” The words tasted nasty in his mouth and he desperately wanted this to be over with. Wanted to scrub what had happened off his body and memory with steel wool. It was just… gross, and pathetic. He hazarded a glance up at Billy’s face to find his boyfriend looking back at him, mouth open and black fire in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna kill ‘im,” Billy said, and he said it softly, matter of fact, rage concentrated into an ice pick point of furious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Billy, don’t. It’s not -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worth it?” Billy interrupted him, dared him to agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The kid was fucked up on something. I’m not saying that makes it… not as bad, or whatever, I’m saying I didn’t knock him out because I didn’t want to hurt him real bad, so I don’t want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hurt him real bad. I’m saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>not worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s eyes were still cold, but that didn’t seem to bother Veronica, who stepped forward and snapped her fingers in front of Billy’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok blondie, listen up. What you’re going to do is you’re going to listen to your boyfriend here and give him what he tells you he needs. That’s it. You got that?” She said. He blinked at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One time, Dustin had gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>on and on</span>
  </em>
  <span> about animal behavior, and how his teacher said that if you want to break up a fight between two male dogs, all you need to do is break their line of sight, and they’ll calm down enough for you to handle them. That was… exactly what Veronica just did. Billy’s anger cowed, he nodded </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, if you all are ok, Ace and I’ll head out.” Veronica announced. She waited, looking at Steve patiently until he met her eyes. “You take care of yourself, ok? And I don’t just mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>about your eye</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Can I give you my number so you can call me tomorrow and tell me you’re ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… Yeah,” Steve said softly. Billy was rubbing his arm up and down and he gritted his teeth at the closed-in feeling it gave him, and then forced himself to relax. “Yeah, I can do that.” She gave him a pointed look like she could read his thoughts that made him feel sheepish even though he didn’t think it was possible. He even glanced at her wrist to see if there was a tattoo, but there wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, let me get something to write with.” She told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ace, the drummer, grinned at him. That dopey of a grin from such a menacing face took him off guard a little. “She’s kind of a mama bear,” He explained. “It’ll run its course.” Steve smiled back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica came back with a permanent marker and took Billy’s arm instead of Steve’s to write her number on. After she wrote it, she pointed at it and at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me.” She said, and then looked at Billy. “And take care of him.” Somehow, she made it sound like a threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both nodded and then Billy steered them back to the other side of the basement, which was all empty now except for Heather, Robin, Scott and Dash, who were standing at the couch that still had all their stuff piled on it. Apparently, Ace had forced everyone else to evacuate. Scott was holding an extra water bottle, which he held out to Steve. Steve took it gratefully, uncapping it and taking a few sips. Billy maneuvered them to sit them both down on the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear to fuck if that shithead’s still upstairs by the time we walk up I’m grinding him to a pulp in the gravel.” Billy threatened loudly. Robin sat on the arm of the couch next to Steve and gently shoved his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, dingus, you ok?” She asked. He nodded. “I’m serious,” She pressed. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grimaced. “I mean, my face hurts, Rob, but other than that I’m ok.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah alright.” She answered with a grin, and ruffled his hair. He held himself very still so Billy didn’t feel him tense up at all. Still, Heather grabbed Robin’s arm and distracted her from touching him anymore, and passed Steve an open, understanding look which he returned with a weak smile. He guessed she had… seen more than the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Scott steered the conversation to the last band’s set, asking the others how the beginning was. Steve looked at him gratefully, and when Scott caught the look he shrugged and nodded. The rest talked and laughed quietly as the basement emptied more and more and Steve let his head fall on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, Scott and Dash left. Steve opened his eyes long enough to smile at them and wave goodbye, and then let his head fall back down and tried, as subtly as he could, to try and bullshit his way through breathing exercises. He didn’t think he was doing them right, because they weren’t working too great. And… there it was. A pulsating pain behind his right eye, only made worse by how his cheek was throbbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, baby,” Billy said quietly. “I’m good to drive now, want to head home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve lifted his head. “Yeah, ok. You sure you want to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Billy smiled at him softly. “I’m sure. Let’s get you home, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok.” Steve let Billy help him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good now?” Robin asked him, giving him a little more space, so Steve wondered if Heather had whispered something to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” He smiled, “Just a headache.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrong thing to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin’s eyes went sharp and pointed. “You got your medicine with you? Or just at home?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With me? Why would I have it with me?” Steve asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So at home?” She asked. He started to lie, started to tell her yeah, he had it, don’t worry about it, but something in his face must have given him away. “Steve.” She said, “Did you let your prescription run out again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made Billy’s head turn. “Prescription?” He asked dangerously. Robin didn’t catch his tone. Not that it would have been better for Steve if she had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, his prescription, for his crazy head trauma induced migraines. Listen, dingus, just because you don’t want to take care of yourself doesn’t mean any of us here are going to let that happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pit of dread that Steve had been barely sidestepping for weeks now swallowed him whole. He stared resolutely at the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Billy’s voice was like metal grating on stone. This time, Robin caught it. She looked at him, tilting her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, big guy? Steve’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>medicine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That he has to go to the doctor every month to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>refilled</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He sees Doctor Ben all the time… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t look up. If he didn’t see them, they didn’t see him. Maybe they’d think he had another concussion. That wouldn’t be great for Tomorrow Steve, but it might buy Today Steve a little more time. More time? To do what? He had been trying to think of a way out of this for weeks… And he would not look up and see… whatever look was on Billy’s face right now. He wallowed in the shame and guilt of what he could only imagine was the look of disappointment, betrayal, hurt on Billy’s face and he wouldn’t look at it. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stared at Billy’s feet while Billy stood still and looked at him. Then, Billy abruptly turned. “Alright, Harrington, time to go home. You need to go to bed.” He said. Steve winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy operated under simple rules. If you act like a jackass, a swift knee to the nuts’ll set you straight. If you act a fool, it comes around to bite you. Shit like that. Another big one of Billy’s was this: If someone calls you by your last name, they mean business: it’s serious time now, no joking around, they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not ok with you right now</span>
  </em>
  <span> and have some things to say to you. Robin’s views of the world were a little more nuanced, but generally very similar in principle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come by tomorrow?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy paused. “Alright, Buckley. Tomorrow.” He said. And then walked out. After a moment’s hesitation, Steve followed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Are Billy, Steve, Veronica, and Ace going to sleep together?</p><p> </p><p>not in this fic but I reserve the right</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. What Kind of Love (Childish Gambino)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ok so this obviously started out as a stupidly self indulgent throw-away kind of piece but I kind of love this chapter a lot so......... hope you all enjoy :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The drive home was uncomfortably quiet. Steve’s head fully started to throb as his anxiety, pending hangover, injury, and regular stupid-fucking-life-ruining migraine all compounded.</p><p>Without really even looking at him, Billy said, “Stop picking.” And sure enough, when he looked down, Steve saw that he had been worrying at the skin around his nails and on his knuckles. He pressed his hands flat on his thighs. Billy didn’t say anything else. The clock on the dash said it was a little after 3am, and the roads were that kind of still, empty quiet that made Steve feel like he was the only one left in the world.</p><p>Billy found a spot a block away from their building and they both sullenly shuffled inside. Once back in their apartment, Billy waved Steve into the bathroom, and Steve went easily, stripping off his clothes and just hopping in the shower long enough to rinse off and scrub the product from his hair. </p><p>He got out, and found that Billy had grabbed him a pair of boxers and an old sweatshirt which were sitting, folded, on the counter. Somehow, that made him feel more miserable than he had before. He slid into the clothes, brushed his teeth, and then tried to be as quiet as he could as he walked down the hallway. Billy was in the kitchen, setting out a cup of water, three pain pills, and a warm washcloth on the counter. </p><p>Steve didn’t look up from Billy’s feet as he walked closer, so Billy just put a hand on his shoulder, kissed his cheek, and said very softly, “Take those and go to bed, baby.” And then walked down to the bathroom to hop in the shower, too.</p><p>Steve swallowed the pills, glanced at the clock on the stove (which read 3:50-something), and then took the washcloth and walked back to the bedrooms. He stood in the hallway between the two doors for a moment, agonizing over which to go into, thinking that Billy would think he hated him if he wanted to sleep in his own bed, but also thinking about the horrible under-the-skin-itch of trying to sleep with any physical contact, and so he ducked into his own room as Billy walked out of the bathroom. He left the door open, hoping that would somehow tell Billy that he still loved him, but slipped under his blankets and put his back to the door.</p><p>He lay very still and listened to Billy’s footsteps come down the hall, and pause in front of his door for a while. He desperately wanted Billy to stop looking at him and also for Billy to slip into bed behind him at the same time. </p><p>Billy flipped the light off in the hallway and closed the door to his own room, and Steve just squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to force his overtired body to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>When Steve woke up again, he felt like death. The blinds over his window were drawn tight but even the beams of light around the edges of the blinds hit his eyes in painful, murky waves. Very, very slowly, he turned his head away from the window and toward his door, and caught a glimpse of a plate of toast sitting on his nightstand. It looked stiff and crumbly, like it had been sitting there for a few hours. Beside the toast was a glass of water and a few more small white pills. He rolled over and propped himself up, swallowing just the pills and then sipping enough water to wet his mouth before burying his head back in his pillow. It felt like his brain was sloshing around inside his skull, and nausea sparked up his stomach and pushed all the way up his throat and he lay there, eyes closed, face smashed into the pillow, until it receded. </p><p>Then, gingerly, he pushed himself up out of bed and made his way toward the bathroom, hand trailing along the wall and taking painfully small, careful steps as his vision spun and sparkled like silent fireworks, blocking out large chunks of sight.</p><p>He took his time using the bathroom, cupped his hand under cool running water and slapped it against the back of his neck, and then pivoted to move back down to his room.</p><p>Blood rushed past his ears so that any other noises had to penetrate the pulsating watery sound, but as he moved on down the hallway he could hear voices in the living room.</p><p>“I want to hear it from him, Rob.” Billy was saying. “No shit it makes me angry, but I’m not sneaking around for this.”</p><p>“It’s not sneaking around. And he’s not going to be well enough to talk to for at least another day or two without his meds.”</p><p>There was silence and then a heavy sigh. “I don’t… Am I fucking stupid or something? How did I not know?”</p><p>“He didn’t tell you, Billy, don’t beat yourself up over it.”</p><p>“I know he didn’t, that’s not what I’m talking about. Shouldn’t I have noticed? I mean, he’s had headaches before, but they were just… I mean, everyone has headaches.”</p><p>“I hear ya, buddy. He’s been telling me that he’s kept up with his appointments this whole time, I never thought to -” She sounded exhausted. Disappointed. Steve felt a desperate urge to cry, because he was <em> afraid </em> , and he <em> just didn’t feel good </em> , and he wanted to be in Billy’s arms and for Billy to tell him it was going to be ok, but <em> how could he ask that of Billy now </em>?</p><p>Steve just managed to stumble up against the corner of the hallway that turned out and opened into the living room, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes because the blinds were open in there.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” He whispered, but wasn’t sure they had heard him as they were both jumping up. Robin ran over to cover the window and glass door to the porch, and Billy came over to him, slowly, palms out like he was approaching a deer - or like Steve might just look about to keel over, and Billy was getting ready to catch him.</p><p>“Stevie, how’re you feeling?” Billy asked. Even though he kept his voice quiet and easy, Steve felt the sound of it like a gong to his head. Steve sniffed and it sounded wet, made him wonder if he was already crying.</p><p>“Please don’t -” He breathed, unsure of what he was even going to say. It turned out that trying to speak again was too much, and he tripped over himself on his way into the kitchen, just barely catching himself on the countertop as he leaned over the sink and puked.</p><p>“<em> Jesus Christ </em>, baby,” Billy hissed sympathetically, putting a hand on Steve’s back. Steve’s skin pricked at the feel of it but he made no move to shrug Billy off.</p><p>“Is this the hangover too? Or just the migraine?” Billy murmured. Steve spat into the sink but made no move to try and talk again, so Robin answered.</p><p>“Could be either, or both. He’s had ‘em where it’s gotten this bad before with just the headaches. Busted a blood vessel in his eye once just from blowing chunks too hard. Looked like a fresh zombie for weeks.”</p><p>“Jee-zus.” Billy repeated, sounding disgusted (probably at Robin’s ripe choice of words).</p><p>“If he keeps going like this, I can probably call Dr. Ben and we can bring him in to the hospital.” She told him. Billy cursed under his breath and Steve heard the faint scratch of Billy scrubbing his fingers roughly through his hair. </p><p>He wasn’t sure if the pain in his stomach just then was from throwing up or from guilt, so he stuttered out, “I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry -”</p><p>“Hey, hey, shush, shut up, Steve, come on. It’s okay, it’s okay...” Billy chastised, petting lightly down Steve’s back. He reached over Steve and knocked the faucet on, too, starting the water running. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet above their heads and filled it part way with tap water, holding it out to Steve expectantly.</p><p>There was a momentary reprieve that Steve felt, his head impossibly lighter, and he took the opportunity to take the water, swish it around in his mouth and spit. Then he sluggishly pushed Billy back and mumbled, “Gonna brush my teeth.” Before moving back down the hallway as quickly as he could.</p><p>“Should we just go ahead and take him?” Billy’s voice faded as he slid into the bathroom.</p><p>“We could, if you want to…” Robin’s voice trailed off too. Steve noticed, suspicious, that their voices faded in and out, but tried to focus on his task at hand. He brushed his teeth quickly, gagging again when he scrubbed his tongue too hard, and rinsed.</p><p>As he straightened back up, he felt an intense head rush, his vision went black, and he fell.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“...<em> She went back to him and kissed him, rumpled his light-colored hair that was just losing its baby-fineness. He was such a solemn little boy, and sometimes she wondered just how he was supposed to survive with her and Jack for parents. The high hopes they had began with came down to this unpleasant apartment building in a city they didn’t know. The image of Danny in his cast rose up before her again. Somebody in the Divine Placement Service had made a mistake, one she sometimes feared could never be corrected and which only the innocent bystander could pay for… </em></p><p>“Oh, hey pretty boy, you awake?”</p><p>Steve blinked his eyes open to the sound of Billy’s soft voice and the smell of stale plastic and antiseptic. He was in a bed, and the sheets were stiff and papery. Everything was really bright, all whites and greys, and he blinked hard against it, eyes still sore. Otherwise, the pain he felt was… distant. He felt better than he had in days. He looked around a little more.</p><p>He was in a hospital room, with the curtain drawn behind Billy so that they had some privacy in the back corner of the room next to a window, and the sun had set.</p><p>“Hospital?” Steve slurred. Billy looked at him and smiled, even though his brow was pinched and Steve could tell he was still worried. He put a finger in between the pages of the beat up copy of <em> The Shining </em> he was holding.</p><p>“Yeah, we took you to the hospital after you passed out, remember? You clipped your shoulder on the doorknob, gonna have that nasty bruise for a little while. Your Doctor Ben said you were just real dehydrated, and that mixed with the withdrawals you were going through from your migraine medications and how bad this one was took you out. You’ve been asleep for thirty hours.”</p><p>Thirty hours? What kind of bullshit head injury had he given himself this time? He wondered. Billy snorted and rubbed his forehead with one knuckle, giving Steve the impression he had said that out loud. Had never had much luck with keeping his mouth shut while he was doped up on drugs.</p><p>“Yeah, you sort of hit your head again going down this time, but the doctor said it’d be best to knock you out while you got your fluids in you ‘cuz of your insomnia anyway. You not tell me about Doc over there because he was such a fine piece of ass? That’s awful selfish, Stevie, trying to keep him all to yourself.” Billy winked at him.</p><p>Steve winced and blushed, shifting in the bed.</p><p>“Oooh, yeah. Robin and I haven’t talked about much of all this but she did tell me about your puppy crush on <em> the good doctor </em>. I don’t blame you.”</p><p>He was rambling. He did that when he didn’t know what to say. Steve rolled his eyes and lazily tried to wave a hand at him, only to find that hand twinged a little when he tried to move it. He looked down to see an iv needle stuck in it and taped down. Billy sighed when he followed his gaze. </p><p>“You had us pretty worried there, Harrington,” Billy sounded tired.</p><p>Steve opened his mouth and hoped that words - <em> any </em> words, <em> any </em> explanation - would come to him, but he came up empty. Billy waved a hand in dismissal at him anyway.</p><p>“We’re talking to the doctor in the morning, you just go back to sleep.”</p><p>Steve looked at Billy furiously, could feel hot, petulant tears crowding his eyes because he just wanted to get this over with already and go back to the way things were. Because things were going to <em> change </em> , he could <em> feel it </em> , they already <em> had </em> , for fuck’s sake. He could tell in the guarded but nervous way Billy looked at him, in the way he was talking to him without really saying anything. He couldn’t stand it, already felt the anger and helplessness clawing at him. It felt like being <em> ignored </em> . It felt like people looking at him and only seeing what they wanted to see. It felt like all the work he and Billy had put in to <em> knowing </em>each other had been wiped away.  </p><p>And anyway, how could he just go back to sleep? Hadn’t Billy said he’d been out for over a day?</p><p>But… oh. Well… Billy opened his book back up and started reading again, and before he knew it his eyes were falling shut and he was almost asleep.</p><p>“<em> Stay out of the road, doc,” She said, and hugged him tight. “Sure, Mom.” She went upstairs and into the kitchen. She put on the teapot and laid a couple of Oreos on a plate for Danny in case he decided to come up while she was lying down. Sitting at the table with her big pottery cup in front of her, she looked out the window at him, still sitting on the curb with his bluejeans and his oversized dark green Stovington Prep sweatshirt, the glider now lying beside him. The tears which had threatened all day now came in a cloudburst and she leaned into the fragrant, curling steam of the tea and wept. In grief and loss for the past, and terror of the future.” </em></p><p>--</p><p>The next time Steve opened his eyes, it was to hushed bickering at the foot of his bed. The light was coming in much brighter from the window, which definitely hurt, but in a way that he could push through. </p><p>“I’m not saying you can’t be <em> mad </em>, Boneless, I’m saying that what’s important right now is for Steve to get better. You can’t go chattering at him right now because it’ll stress him out.” Robin was saying.</p><p>Someone scoffed. “Yeah, right, like I’m going to talk to him right now.” It was Dustin.</p><p>“What - what? You mean you’ve been here since 6am waiting for him to wake up so you can give him the silent treatment?” Robin asked.</p><p>“Mhm,” Dustin answered.</p><p>“Incredible,” Robin said to the ceiling. “You know what? I’m not even going to try with you, dude.”</p><p>She glanced over at the bed then and noticed Steve watching them.</p><p>“Hey,” He said, voice cracking. His throat was painfully dry.</p><p>Dustin’s face shut down hard and Steve winced, but figured he deserved that.</p><p>“Hey,” Robin said softly. “Billy went to grab coffee before Dr. Ben comes to get you.” She told him. “You feeling any better?”</p><p>Steve closed his eyes briefly, cataloguing his aches. “Yeah,” He said finally, even though he sounded tired even to himself. “Yeah, I’m feeling better.”</p><p>She nodded and patted the blankets right where his ankle was before shooting a threatening look to Dustin, who pointedly ignored it, staring resolutely out of the window.</p><p>“Hey buddy,” Steve began, coughing a little to try and clear his throat. Dustin scowled deeper and still refused to look at him. Steve sighed. “Listen… Dustin, I’m sorry I lied to you, man. I just… I just didn’t want anyone to worry about me.”</p><p>He saw Robin roll her eyes at that, like she was saying,<em> “Yeah, great job on that one, dingus,” </em> and grimaced. He wasn’t doing a great job with any of this - even his apology. He huffed, angry at himself for so, <em> so </em>many things.</p><p>Robin could tell. She could always tell. She made jokes about <em> emotional capacity </em> and his lack of whatever that was, but he had also told her before how it felt when he couldn’t find words, when he couldn’t really tell anyone what was going on in his head because the words just <em> weren’t there </em>.</p><p>So she butted in, moving around to his left side.</p><p>“Here,” She said. “Sit up a little and drink this water.”</p><p>She picked up the flimsy clear plastic cup from the nightstand. He pushed himself up off the pillows and all the way up so he could bring the water to his lips. It tasted stale, but it helped. That was when he also noticed that the IV that had been taped to his hand was gone, too. He must have been <em> knocked out </em>. </p><p>“And you,” She pointed at Dustin. “Sit down at least, you stubborn weirdo.”</p><p>Reluctantly, stomping and pulling violently at the chair to prove he wasn’t happy about it, Dustin complied.</p><p>“Ok.” Robin said, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed. “How much does Billy know?” Steve felt his face burn. His stomach dropped.</p><p>“None of it.” He whispered, staring at the square pattern pressed into the white blanket thrown over his legs. Every bit of him felt sluggish and useless. He didn’t dare glance up, but from his peripheral he saw that both Robin and Dustin had dropped their mouths open. </p><p>“<em> Nothing </em> ?” Robin asked, incredulous. “Steve…” God, he was going to be sick again. He felt like he was twelve. <em> God </em> , why did he feel like such a goddamn <em> child </em> ? His head even started to throb again, and he rubbed one eye with the palm of his hand hard, to try and rub away the hurt. “How?” Robin continued. “Have you not gone back to the doctor’s since you two started <em> dating </em> ? That’s been like <em> years </em>, Steve.”</p><p>“N-no,” Steve answered. “Just since we moved in together. I didn’t want to… to lie to him, about where I was going, so I just… stopped, and didn’t talk about it.”</p><p>“So you just lied to us, instead. That’s so much better.” Dustin mumbled bitterly, still not looking at him from where he was slumped in the seat, arms crossed, chin tucked into his chest.</p><p>“Dustin…” Steve said, but Dustin didn’t respond, obviously going back to ignoring him.</p><p>“I just don’t understand why.” Robin said. Steve could tell she was trying to keep her voice low, and calm, but she was getting more and more annoyed. He started digging one thumbnail into the skin around the other, to distract himself just enough that he didn’t start freaking out any more.  She scooted up and leaned in, gesturing and fidgeting as she went on. “It was all helping, wasn’t it? The medicine and seeing Dr. Ben was helping, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded, swallowing hard.</p><p>Robin stood up and started pacing around nervously. </p><p>“Why would you just <em> stop going </em> ? Why didn’t you want Billy to know you get <em> headaches </em> ? That makes no sense, Steve. I mean, listen, I know your mom and pops and Nancy and all them fucked you up pretty royally, I know you get it in your head that people don’t care about you, but you <em> know </em> we do, <em> right </em> ? I mean are we really <em> that shitty </em> as friends that you just didn’t want to tell us that you’d stopped - And that still just <em> doesn’t make sense </em>, Steve. I don’t understand why you would stop going to the doctor for something that you needed -”</p><p>“Stop.” Steve gasped. Dustin shot him a look, surprised, before returning his eyes to the plain white tile floor. All three of them were crying. Robin did stop, pivoting to look at him, throwing her arms out like, <em> Well? </em>Steve was teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. He concentrated on taking deep, even breaths even as he trembled, and felt the breath catch in his throat. “I couldn’t keep seeing Dr. Ben because I couldn’t let Billy find out I needed this -”</p><p>Robin started to cut him off but he kept talking right over her.</p><p>“Because Billy gave me the first concussion that started all of this.”</p><p>The hospital room went silent.</p><p>Dustin let out a soft, “<em> Oh </em>.”</p><p>Steve sniffed as tears fell more insistently. “A-and-and <em> I </em> know that what happened at the mall was what made it b-bad enough that I needed the medicine, b-b-but that didn’t mean the mall was where it all s-start-started getting bad. And I knew that <em> that </em> was what Billy would get stuck on and I <em> n-never wanted to put that on him </em> . And once I s-started with all this,” He waved aimlessly into the air, “it just kept <em> going </em> and <em> going </em> and I didn’t think about how I would have to lie to you all until it was too late, and I was just t-trying to be <em> good to him </em> and I fucked it all up.” Steve sniffed again. Shit fuck, crying made his head feel awful again. He squeezed his eyes shut against it.</p><p>Before any of them could move (Dustin was going in for a hug, Steve could feel it) They heard the sound of a paper bag crumpling from the other side of the curtain. Steve froze. </p><p><em> No, no, no, no, no, shit, shit, shit, shit </em>… Steve thought, and didn’t dare move. He watched Robin jump and turn to look at the person on the other side of Steve’s privacy curtain. The look on her face went so fucking sad that Steve knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was Billy. </p><p>Sure enough, Billy walked closer, carrying a drink carrier with three cups in one hand and a paper bag that was splotchy with leaking grease in the other, held clenched in his fist. He had a pull string backpack on one shoulder.</p><p>“Bagels.” He said in a monotone voice, dropping the bag into Dustin’s lap. His face was carefully blank. He held out the drink carrier to Robin and pulled one of the cups out when she took it from him. “Those two have cream and sugar.” He said, motioning to the remaining cups.</p><p>“Billy…” Steve began.</p><p>“It’s almost time to meet with Dr. Ben.” Billy cut over him. “I brought you a change of clothes, go ahead and get ready.” He pulled the backpack off his shoulder and tossed it on the bed. Then, he walked out of the room.</p><p>Steve took a great big shuddering breath.</p><p>“Steve,” Robin murmured sympathetically. </p><p>“I’m gonna get dressed.” He mumbled, pushed the blanket and sheet off of himself and swung his legs off the side of the bed. When he stood up and grabbed the backpack off the bed, his head swum a little, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it, walking straight into the bathroom across the way and shutting the door.</p><p>Billy brought him a pair of black sweatpants and an old blue sweatshirt, a stick of deodorant and his toothbrush and toothpaste. There was a pair of ugly brown slippers already on his feet that the hospital must have supplied, and as far as he could tell he didn’t have any other shoes. That was fine. He used the toilet and then used the hand soap to wash his hands and his face, ran more water through his hair, brushed his teeth and put on the deodorant. After crying as much as he had, he felt congested and miserable, but just numb enough to get through what was sure to be an excruciating interaction with Dr. Krass.</p><p>He had been wearing old pajamas he had on when he had been brought in, and he stuffed those back in the backpack before going back into the other room.</p><p>Dr. Krass was standing next to his empty bed, chatting amiably with Robin.</p><p>Benjamin Krass was a little taller than Steve, and had short cut black hair that he kept gelled back in a sweeping motion on his head. He wore wide, thin silver rimmed glasses, and a sharp yellow button down with grey slacks under his white coat. He smiled at Steve in a friendly way when he caught his eye, which made Steve start to dread their appointment even more. He returned the smile with a half hearted one of his own, and a weak wave.</p><p>“Mr. Harrington,” Dr. Ben greeted him. “It’s good to see you up and walking around. Are you ready to follow me to my office?”</p><p>Steve nodded. Dustin came over and grabbed the backpack from his hand, staring hard at him like he was trying to get Steve to read his mind. Steve just patted him on the arm. “Thanks, buddy. Later, ok?” Dustin shrugged and agreed.</p><p>“We’re going to head out,” Robin told him. “We’ll see you later.” Steve nodded and let her hug him. Finally, Dustin swept in for a strong hug, too.</p><p>Dr. Ben started walking out of the room, and Steve followed.</p><p>Surprised, he passed Billy, who was leaning against the wall right beside the door to his room.</p><p>“Uh, Dr. Ben,” Steve called suddenly, hesitant. “Can Billy sit in with us?”</p><p>Dr. Ben looked behind him, raising his eyebrows. “Of course,”</p><p>“You want me to?” Billy asked sullenly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve answered back, just as quiet.</p><p>Billy shrugged but pushed himself off the wall, not looking excited at all. They all walked together down the hallway to Dr. Ben’s office.</p><p>The Hawkins hospital was not a big place. As such, Dr. Ben’s office felt a little cramped. Plus, Steve thought morosely, it wasn’t like he was <em> actually </em>a shrink, just play acting for him. There was a tall examination table angled into the center of the room from one corner, two waiting chairs that were covered in squeaky, easy to disinfect plastic, and a desk against the far wall with stacks of papers and folders on it, two cabinets above it, and a rolling office chair in front of it. There was a small plant sitting on the window ledge above the head of the examination table, and on the back of the door hung a cozier looking sweater and a heavy coat.</p><p>Dr. Ben sat in the rolling chair at his desk and pulled out two folders and a pen, and motioned for the boys to sit in the waiting chairs. Billy sat spread out like this was exactly where he was supposed to be, all hard confidence and direct corners, but he sat very stiff. Steve didn’t know if anyone else would have noticed. Dr. Ben might, though. Steve himself shifted and fidgeted in the seat, pulling up a leg to tuck under him and then putting it back down, scooting all the way back in the seat and then pulling himself up to sit right on the edge, pulling his sweatshirt sleeves down over his hands and then thinking that looked stupid probably and pushing them all the way up to his elbows. He was surprised when Billy reached over and put a hand on his arm, but settled anyway. Once they all seemed situated, Dr. Ben looked at them both plainly, with a comforting grin just pulling at his mouth.</p><p>“Mr. Hargr- I mean, excuse me, Billy, it’s good to see you again today. Of course I would never have a problem with anyone sitting in on Steve’s meetings with me, as long as he is ok with it.” He began, and then turned to Steve, crossing his legs and folding the hand holding the pen over his knee. “So Steve, it’s been almost ten months since our last appointment, but I am sorry to have gotten you back to see me this way. How are you feeling this morning?”</p><p>Honestly, like he was about to keel over again, he thought, but knew better than to say that.</p><p>“I’m feeling better.” He said softly. God, why did it sound like he was <em> sulking </em>? “I’m sorry I worried everyone, it honestly hasn’t been that bad in a while.”</p><p>“So it seemed your migraines receded for those months?”</p><p>Steve shrugged. “Mostly.”</p><p>“What about any other symptoms?” Dr. Ben asked. “I know that you deal with them already, but I’ll remind you that the side effects of quitting that migraine medication are -”</p><p>“Yeah, those have been a little bad, I guess.” Steve cut him off. Dr. Ben pinned him down with a look that wasn’t angry or disappointed, exactly, just a firm look that told him he wasn’t getting out of this one. Steve sighed, glancing in the vague direction of Billy’s face just so he could see that Billy was looking his way, not to look in his face. “My anxiety has been worse. And I stopped - I mean, I haven’t been practicing… My reading’s really bad. My focus, and with the letters, I mean.”</p><p>“Your dyslexia. Yes.” He encouraged. “What about your insomnia?”</p><p>Steve breathed real deep and let it out slow. “Yeah, that’s been… not great.” He said, thinking about how many nights he just lay awake, even when he was with Billy, watching Billy’s back and chest while he had breathed shallow breaths and slept.</p><p>Dr. Ben smiled a little. “That’s not a surprise, after you just slept for about 42 hours.” He joked. </p><p>Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “That’s really been it, though.” He said.</p><p>“Ok,” Dr. Ben conceded. “Have you been keeping up the practices that I gave you to help regain and maintain your fine motor skills? And have you seen an uptick in your depression at all?”</p><p>Billy had gone so still again that Steve hazarded a glance at his face. He was absolutely unreadable, except that his eyes were darting back and forth between the doctor and Steve a little frantically. Steve swallowed.</p><p>“My depression got bad a couple months ago, but only for a little while. And I’ve kept up with exercises. I got the job at the pottery place, too, so win-win?”</p><p>Dr. Ben smiled at him. “You got the job, congratulations!” He offered. “That’s great to hear. And I’m glad those fine motor skills have withstood the task. Moving on from here, I will write you a new prescription for your medicine, and why don’t we go back to our regular meetings? Do you want to hop back in to coming back to see me every other week? Or would once a month work better with your new schedule?”</p><p>“Uh…” Steve began. Trying to think past today seemed impossible. “I guess let’s go for every other week. I’ll double check my work schedule.” That sounded like the option that Dr. Ben wanted him to take, so he went with the safe route.</p><p>“Very good.” Dr. Ben responded. Steve let himself breath a little easier, feeling like he had appeased at least one person today. “Now, Billy, do <em> you </em>have any questions? Is this something we should discuss, you being more involved in the future?”</p><p>A shot of anxiety blew through Steve just then. Realized Dr. Ben was talking to him like Steve’s partner. While <em> Steve’s </em>sexuality had come up in some of their sessions, Steve never explicitly talked about Billy. Had he unintentionally outed Billy in this, too? Billy was comfortable being out, sure, but only in ways and places he felt like he could control. As if all this couldn’t have gotten any more fucked up... Steve shot Billy another nervous glance, but Billy hadn’t moved. The slight furrow of his brow was the only way that Steve knew Billy had heard the question.</p><p>“Is that what Steve wants?” Billy asked the doctor pointedly.</p><p>“Steve?” Dr. Ben patiently turned back to him instead.</p><p>“It’s… I mean, do you <em> want </em> to?” Steve asked. Sure, he had gone with Billy to Billy’s sessions, but Billy’s weren’t as stupid and juvenile as a doctor <em> teaching Steve how to read </em> or working through why going to the grocery store gave him panic attacks because what if he wasn’t… he didn’t even know… <em> buying fruit and vegetables right </em>?</p><p>Billy snarled then. “<em> Jesus Christ </em>.” He hissed, violently pushed himself out of the chair, and stormed out of the room.</p><p>Steve jumped and reached out to try and catch hold of Billy’s shirt, but Billy pulled himself out of Steve’s grasp hard and slammed the door to Dr. Ben’s office as he stalked away.</p><p>Dr. Ben looked frankly at Steve when Steve’s attention returned to him.</p><p>“Are you ashamed of going to therapy, Steve?” He asked.</p><p>Steve balked at the perceived accusation. “What? No!” He answered.</p><p>“But you’ve been hiding the fact that… Well, you <em> used </em>to see me from him.” Dr. Ben nodded pointedly toward the door.</p><p>“Well, I… no, uh -” Steve’s mind raced, trying to find a way around admitting that he had been trying to protect Billy from this. Because he already knew what Dr. Ben would say about <em> that </em> , about making <em> assumptions </em> about peoples’ <em> reactions </em> , and feeling responsible for peoples’ <em> emotions </em> , and he didn’t want to hear any of that. “Billy’s stuff is way more important than this. He shouldn’t have to worry about me, because I’m <em> fine </em>. Mostly.”</p><p>Dr. Ben pursed his lips in a way that let Steve know he was in trouble again.</p><p>“Well, we both know that that isn’t true.” Dr. Ben started tersely. That smarted, but Steve supposed he deserved that one. “We have also discussed your unhealthy reliance on filling the caretaker role in your relationships. Do you remember?”</p><p>Steve sunk down in his seat a little. So much for diverting. “Yes.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Do you remember the big takeaway that we worked on when we were working through that tendency of yours?”</p><p>Steve felt himself going red. Thinking back on Billy storming out minutes ago started his anxiety fizzing up inside him like acid, but he was simultaneously <em> so </em>glad that he was no longer in the room.</p><p>“Steve,” Dr. Ben said gently, patient but firm.</p><p>“That I don’t have to earn my worth or prove it to people.” He recited, shifting perpetually in embarrassment.</p><p>“Good.” The doctor said. “Now, I don’t know much about your friend who was just with us, Steve, but I do know a thing or two about people, relationships, and trauma, and it’s safe to assume in basically any situation that vulnerability is hard. Would you agree?”</p><p>Steve nodded, wishing his dumb brain would work a little faster so he could see where the doctor was leading him.</p><p>“And relationships - regardless of what kind,” Dr. Ben said forcefully, cutting Steve off as he half heartedly tried to object, “Are about <em> reciprocity </em>. They are built on it. That’s what makes them fulfilling endeavors.”</p><p>“What are you saying, doc?” Steve snapped, annoyed as ever that he didn’t understand. “Use real words, I’m not in school anymore.”</p><p>Dr. Ben smiled placatingly. “Sure, sorry. Let me ask this. Who do you think has been more vulnerable in your relationship? You, or Billy?”</p><p>Steve sat very still for the first time since he had gotten into the room, and felt that ice cold squirm of shame snaking up from the pit of his stomach.</p><p>Dr. Ben watched him and let silence fall over the room for a moment. They could hear the echoing beeps of machinery, ringing calls over the intercoms, the tapping and squeaking of tennis shoes on the tiles.</p><p>“I don’t mean to suggest that vulnerability is some form of competition, mind you.” Dr. Ben continued after a moment. “But rather that between partners, it should come with trust and solidarity. With both of you on equal footing. It should be a give and take. And it’s ok for you to take right now.”</p><p>Steve stared hard at the white tiles to the left of his shoes, feeling tears prick his eyes.</p><p>“Now, I think you should go find him.” Dr. Ben pushed. Steve nodded and slowly left the room.</p><p> </p><p>When Steve found Billy, Billy was sprawled out on a bench in the park across the street, one knee hiked up and arms behind his head, staring harsh and unblinking into the sky. For some reason, Steve was so nervous that he didn’t move any closer for a moment, watching as Billy practiced laying perfectly still.</p><p>He finally got up the courage to shuffle forward a few more steps, so he knew he was in Billy’s peripheral vision.</p><p>Steve sighed when Billy still didn’t acknowledge him, and he was surprised when it sounded wet. “Bill,” He said hesitantly. No response, except for the tightening of one of Billy’s hands into a fist. Steve sniffed and angrily swiped at the tears in his eyes. “Bill, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Did you not think I’d be good to you?” Billy asked. </p><p>“What?” Steve asked, fretting. Of all the things Billy could have started with, this was <em> by far </em> the worst. “No, that isn’t it at all. I was… I was wrong, I was trying to take care of you, you’ve already gone through so much, I didn’t want to add to it. I… shit, Bill, you’re the one with all the words, I don’t know how to say this.” He scrubbed a hand over his face to find more goddamned tears, and paced back and forth. Billy watched him impassively from the corner of his eye. “I wanted to be your <em> place </em> , you know? I wanted to be your <em> grounder </em>or… or whatever. I wanted to be the one you could lean on, so I needed to be strong for you, you know?” He watched a flicker of heartbreaking understanding streak across Billy’s face before it was replaced by anger again.</p><p>“So you lied to me about needing to see a <em> doctor </em>?” He spat, and then gave a derisive, barking laugh. “That’s just great.”</p><p>Steve took a deep, shuddering breath that whooshed out in a sob so heavy he could never have stopped it. “I’m sorry, Bill,” He gasped. He spiraled through the ache in his head and his anger at himself for not being able to pull himself together so they could both say what they needed to say, to grief at all the wrongs he had inflicted. </p><p>Next thing he knew, though, Billy let out a concerned, “Oh… baby…” And he felt Billy’s familiar, calloused hands run up his arms and pull him into a tight, quiet hug.</p><p>“Don’t hate me?” Steve requested, and he’d really meant it as a joke to distract from the fact that he had just been crying, but it came out a little more sincere than that.</p><p>Billy huffed against his neck. “Don’t hate you, sweetheart.” He confirmed, sounding open and raw, too. “Just <em> worried </em>about you, and I wish you knew I love you enough to want to take care of you.”</p><p>Steve squeezed his eyes tight, feeling the imminent threat of more tears. “I love you too. So much. And I want to tell you everything, all of it, everything that happened and everything you want.”</p><p>Billy rested their foreheads together and rubbed his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “Ok,” He whispered. “Let’s go back inside and get what you need, and then let’s go home, yeah? We don’t need to talk about that yet. But we can. We will. Soon.”</p><p>“Ok.” Steve whispered back.</p><p>They went back inside the hospital and up to the room where Dr. Ben was waiting for them with Steve’s new prescription to be filled, and a few tablets to take in the meantime. Steve also scheduled his next appointment with the doctor while they were standing there watching him. Then, Billy gently led him back out of the hospital, to the camaro, and home.</p><p>Billy turned on some crooning music and kept it quiet, and hummed along as he drove with his hand on Steve’s knee. Steve dosed a little in the car, feeling a little relief from the medicine. He absentmindedly rubbed over Billy’s knuckles. Billy led him up to their apartment when they got back, and when he ordered Steve to go to sleep, he insisted that he lay in Billy’s bed instead of his own. Steve was ok with that. The sheets had been changed, but still smelled faintly of Billy. Then, Billy kissed Steve’s forehead and told him that he was going to the pharmacy to get Steve’s prescription filled. Steve was asleep by the time Billy got back, didn’t even really stir when Billy climbed into bed beside him, and slept until late the next morning.</p><p>Steve did finally drag himself out of bed, feeling groggy from a good sleep, and shuffled into the kitchen. His head felt almost good as new. Billy was just finishing buttering a few pieces of toast to set on their kitchen table when he walked in.</p><p>“Morning, baby boy.” Billy offered softly, smiling an open smile. No teeth, just a scrunch of the eyes.</p><p>“Morning,” Steve answered, trying for a smile but assuming it wasn’t quite as sweet as Billy’s. He sat on one of the chairs and Billy smoothed his hair down a little with a breathy chuckle and scooted the plate with the toast in front of him.</p><p>“Eat,” He said. “And I’m making a little coffee because the doc said it’ll be good for you, but I’m making it weaker so it won’t hurt your stomach.” He warned. Steve nodded.</p><p>As he slowly, really woke up, Steve watched Billy more warily. Yesterday had been… bad. He watched the lines of Billy’s shoulders and the way those lines swooped up his neck, and tried to watch the way his loose t shirt might pull across his shoulder blades, looking for any tense muscle. He couldn’t tell.</p><p>But, Billy didn’t say anything. He brought two mugs of black coffee, and then his own plate with more toast and a heaping pile of scrambled eggs to the table. The heat from the coffee and the eggs coiled off into steam. Billy brushed Steve’s shoulder as he sat down, but otherwise focused on his plate and started eating. Steve didn’t move, just watched Billy carefully out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>After a while, Billy looked at Steve’s untouched toast and motioned to it with his fork.</p><p>“You gotta eat, doll.” He mumbled around a mouthful. “You’ll feel better after a little easy food. Don’t want you to get sick on top of everything.” He gently reached up and drew his thumb over Steve’s cheek.</p><p>Steve grimaced a little, and he really couldn’t tell whether it was at the prospect of eating, or at how sweet Billy was being. Billy must have thought it was the former, because he snorted and returned to his own food.</p><p>The kitchen fell silent again.</p><p>“You don’t have to be so careful with me.” Steve said after a while. Billy glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“Hm?” He murmured.</p><p>“I know you’re mad at me, you can just be mad. Don’t pretend. You don’t have to be careful with me.”</p><p>Billy snorted and grinned in a very quiet way, a very subdued, un-Billy like way. “Yeah, I do, Steve.” He answered. “Of course I have to be careful with you. I’m your boyfriend, that’s my job.”</p><p>Steve gaped at him for a moment, at a loss.</p><p>“Billy, I hurt you.” He said painfully. The words may as well have been glass. “I… I lied to you, Billy. I really fucked this up.” <em> Tell him what you need </em>, Ben had said. “I need you to not be passive about this. I need you to not just roll over when I do something wrong.”</p><p>Billy gave him a sharp side eye, body stiff and unmoving, facing directly forward. “Well, <em> gee </em>, Steve. You want me to be pissed off?” He snapped. “Because that’s working for ya right now.”</p><p>Steve ignored the sharp stab of fear in his gut. In the Harrington house, fights led to cold, cold silence. They led to all the color being let out like blood from places that were supposed to be homes. But Steve wouldn’t let that happen, and he couldn’t let this go. He took a deep, shaky breath.</p><p>“Yes - I mean, <em> no </em> , but -” He stopped short, angry at himself for not knowing the steps to this dance. “I’m just a person, Bill. And as much as I want to be perfect for you - because I do, baby, <em> that’s all I want </em> -” He reached for Billy’s hand. Billy let him take it, but didn’t move. Steve could hold on tight enough for both of them. “I know there’s no way. So if the best that you’ve got is just me, and I’m going to fuck up everything I can because that’s what I do, I need you to hold me accountable for that.”</p><p>The sound that tore itself from Billy was something like a grunt, like he had just been punched in the stomach but was laughing and heartbroken about it. Like Steve had hit him. “Hold you accountable?” He asked. He still hadn’t moved. Was still staring straight forward. His fingers twitched under Steve’s hold. “You could stomp on my dick, spit in my face, and walk out right now and I wouldn’t <em> hold you accountable </em>.” He sneered. </p><p>“That <em> isn’t right </em>, Billy. Relationships are supposed to be about equal -”</p><p>“Did your <em> secret hot doctor </em> give you this bullshit to spout back at me?” Billy rolled his eyes.</p><p>Steve tasted something bitter and scowled. “Shut the fuck up, don’t interrupt me.” He spat. “You’re not the big man who <em> just takes it </em> anymore, Billy.”</p><p>“Ooh,” Billy taunted. “Prissy princess has things to say all of a sudden.”</p><p>“Are we seriously fighting right now? Because I want you to stand up for yourself? Is <em> this </em> the fight we’re going to have?” Steve asked, incredulous, and a little shrill. “What I’m trying to tell you is I <em> care </em> about you, jackass, and I want to recognize when <em> you’re </em> in pain just as much as you want to recognize <em> me </em>in pain, and I can’t fucking do that with you when you won’t tell me that I’ve done something wrong.”</p><p>“No, you’re right. Whatever the fuck you do to me, I’m just going to roll over and take it. I don’t give a shit what you do to me. You wanna know why, Stevie? Wanna take a swing at being Big Doctor Brain here? Because <em> I deserve it </em>.”</p><p>Steve paled. “Wh… <em> What </em>?” He breathed. Billy’s face suddenly screwed up like he was in some sort of immeasurable pain.</p><p>“Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what I did to you.” He confessed in a whisper, and the air around them stilled. “And you know it, too. Else you wouldn’t have kept all this from me. That’s what you told Robin and Dustin. Because all this is my fucking fault, Steve. That night -” His voice and composure finally broke for a split second. “That night I did that to you, I was so <em> desperate </em> . I was just <em> aching </em> to make someone feel as pathetic and small and helpless and hurt as I felt, and I basically already fucking loved you even though I didn’t know you, and I was <em> so sure </em> I would never have you, and it made me <em> so angry </em> . Lookin’ at you made me so angry that I did what I did to you. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Because you never deserved that. <em> Ever </em>.” He went quiet again, the conviction in his voice sounding metallic and astringent. </p><p>Then, he slumped, and smiled a vague, watery, defeated smile like that just seemed like the thing to do, not that he really meant it. “So <em> no </em>, Steve. I’m not going to get mad at you. I’m not going to be mad anymore.”</p><p>Somewhere along the line, Steve had started crying. He honestly didn’t remember it happening, and wished he would stop fucking doing that because he’d cried more in the past two days than he had in a long fucking time. He tried to think of how anyone else would respond. How an adult would respond, maybe, because he sure as hell didn’t feel like one.</p><p>“We were just kids, man.” He said eventually, voice barely above a whisper, and shrugged. “We were just figuring it all out. Kids can be cruel, but they don’t know any better.”</p><p>Billy looked furious suddenly. “You’re a naive motherfucker -” He began, but Steve cut him off.</p><p>“I mean nobody ever showed you any better. What you did was what you did. That’s the same for everybody. But I want to <em> be here </em>, and I want to show you better, Bill. Because you deserve better.”</p><p>“You’re breakin’ my heart, pretty boy.” Billy croaked.</p><p>Steve took a steadying breath. “Billy,” He said. “Billy, look at me. Please.” He waited, until the other man slowly turned his head. Then, he took another deep breath and said, “I forgive you for that night. I forgive you for what you did. I forgive you.” Billy started shaking his head, eyes wide, like Steve didn’t know what he was doing. Steve watched the tears gather in Billy’s eyes and the shudder of his breath. He slid off the chair and onto his knees, one hand coming to hold Billy’s shin and the other clutching the bottom of his shirt. Billy let out a wounded noise. “Will you forgive me?”</p><p>“Silly son of a bitch.” Billy choked. </p><p>“That a yes?” Steve joked, and then asked again, “Will you forgive me?” And he waited.</p><p>Billy looked in his eyes for a long time. He was still looking while Steve’s own vision had blurred out with tears, and he looked some more after his own tears started to fall. Then, he slid off his chair and got on his knees with Steve, and pulled him into a tight hug. Steve felt him nod once against his neck.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Your Honor (feat. Kill Kenada) by Regina Spektor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>thanks for sticking through it so far &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy and Steve spent the rest of the day slowly rediscovering each other. Steve thought he might be the dramatic one this time, because as afraid as he had been of the changes he knew were coming, so far they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He let himself bask just a little in Billy’s care and attention, for all the world feeling like a cat who found a particularly warm beam of sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had learned pretty early on that Billy showed his affection by </span>
  <em>
    <span>showing his affection. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sure, sometimes Steve was a little jealous at how good Billy was with words, but he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> good with words. Maybe what he said meant everything, maybe it was what he thought people expected him to say, maybe he just liked the way the words tasted. But Steve had never felt so sure that Billy was into this, really sold on him, like when Billy was touching him. And now, he was always touching him. Just drawing his hand along Steve’s arm as he passed him, pressing a leg to his when they were sitting at the kitchen table together, bumping shoulders while they waited in line at the grocery store, pulling Steve between his legs on the couch while they watched tv and sliding a hand up under his shirt to rest on Steve’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve loved it. He never felt self conscious of how much he craved it anymore, the way he had with Nancy. Not to say that Nancy… Well, that is… They had been in highschool. Nancy wasn’t used to having someone in her space. It didn’t really seem to bother her </span>
  <em>
    <span>anymore</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that was ok. He could barely recall the feeling of her thin fingers skipping over his skin like she didn’t know how to touch him, and wasn’t sure she wanted to touch him, either. But with Billy, they spend the whole day taking and giving and taking and giving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve called the warehouse and told them he was so sorry for missing work for the past two days but he would be in bright and early. His team lead, Paul, said not to worry about missing any days, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner</span>
  </em>
  <span> Billy had called and explained the situation. They were excited to see him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy called and ordered pizza for dinner since they hadn’t really had a chance to go grocery shopping. He ordered enough for two extra people, too, because he didn’t know when it was going to happen, but Robin and Dustin were going to show up eventually. It was inevitable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, about ten minutes after the pizza showed up, the two oddballs showed up too. Steve stood in the living room, nervously toying with his sleeve, and smiled at Robin and Dustin as they walked down the hallway after Billy let them in. Billy slipped innocuously into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, guys,” He said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin walked up to him and stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. She nosed at his jaw a little, affectionately, and petted his hair. With physical, palpable relief, Steve relaxed into her hug and laughed a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, dingus,” She whispered, and then pulled away, “Do I smell pizza?” She asked, and waltzed into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fuckin’ bought it,” Steve heard Billy exclaim. “You gonna wait a goddamn minute so I can eat some of it first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nu uh,” Robin answered around a mouthful of food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked at Dustin then, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I really am sorry, bud.” He said sadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry.” Dustin answered. Steve looked at him then, surprised. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that, you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span> and just trying to protect us, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugged, uncomfortable. “You don’t have to apologize, Dustin. I deserved it. I lied to you. I -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dustin cut him off by flying forward and hugging him so tightly that it cut off his air supply. Dustin buried his face in Steve’s hair, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was still so weird the kid was taller than him. Was this what parents felt like? He thought he felt a little like a parent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> about yourself like that.” Dustin insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighed, relaxing just a little into Dustin’s hug, too. “Yeah, ok.” He conceded. “Thanks for the apology. I’m sorry, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dustin pulled back then and smiled at him so hard his eyes scrunched up. Steve loved those smiles on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once everyone had filled their plates, grabbed water from the sink, and moved to sit around the kitchen table, Billy looked around and, in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> fake chipper voice, said,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, guys, story time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do we start?” Robin asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wellllll</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Billy drawled, “I guess with how I beat my boyfriend so bad he has to take prescription meds for it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy,” Steve groaned pitifully, feeling shock waves of guilt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, it wasn’t all your fault.” Robin tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>mostly </span>
  </em>
  <span>your fault.” Steve tried to explain. “Our fight just… I mean, it hurt, but it was really just -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dustin agreed, “It was mostly the Russians!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy looked at Dustin blankly. “The… what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The table fell quiet, and then Robin, Dustin, and Steve all erupted at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know about the Russians?” Dustin asked, voice squeaky with disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t even tell him about -” Robin turned to Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was trapped in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>alternate dimension</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then came back in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>coma</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Robin, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>I didn’t tell him. I figured that week was traumatic enough without knowing about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge Russian spy base</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing experiments on the Upside Down -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey - </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hey, hey, hey -” Billy cut in. “Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>excuse me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? One of you nerds better start explaining right the fuck now.” As insistent as he was that he needed to know the story, Billy looked more than a little dismayed when he caught the sudden spark in Dustin’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there was this girl named Suzie -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Dustin stopped talking, Billy was leaning over the table with his head in one hand, eyes firmly shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve also hadn’t anticipated the rushes of anxiety and the cold sweat on his palms as Dustin retold the story, and as Steve and Robin had filled in the missing pieces. He tried to focus instead on the angry, protective flush of Billy’s cheeks as he retold the part where they had taken him to a separate room. If he blinked too hard, he could remember the feel of the rope cutting into him, or the man’s fingers digging into his cheeks, or the wild lack of control he had felt over… </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his mouth, his thoughts, once the drugs had taken effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is this nowhere town in Indi-fuckin-ana such a clusterfuck of a place.” Billy wondered. The rest agreed. “So it took you </span>
  <em>
    <span>three years</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pretty boy, for you to tell me that you two geniuses were </span>
  <em>
    <span>captured by Russians</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it took an actual black out migraine and a trip to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy, I’m sorry,” Steve repeated, dismayed. “I just didn’t want you to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worry?” Billy cut him off. “Too </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckin’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad. Where’s the guy that put his hands on you? I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>knock his teeth in</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stilled, eyes shooting to stare at the red sauce smeared on his now empty plate. There were a couple of crumbs there, too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hadn’t really thought about it like that before. “I guess he could still be around -” He said softly. He must have looked just as freaked the fuck out as he felt, because Dustin leaned forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance in </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>he survived the explosion, and even if some of them did, I’d take a cattle prod to his balls. Till he died.” Dustin threatened strongly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn fuckin’ straight.” Robin concurred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If anyone. And I mean it, anyone tried to get to you, they’d have to step over my dead fuckin’ corpse.” Billy rumbled, leaning back in his chair with one arm hooked around the shoulder rest, spreading his legs out. Posturing. Steve admitted to himself, he did look… </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Good. Big, strong - jesus, Dustin was still here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Put a cap on it, Harrington.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “And I ain’t that easy to kill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dustin exclaimed, “Billy’s got like nine lives or somethin’.” Billy grinned sharply, smug and self assured. And it… yeah, Steve decided, it helped. He didn’t have to feel so scared. He wasn’t alone anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all ended up piling on the couch to watch a movie. Billy took one corner, pulling Steve so tight beside him he was almost in his lap. Steve turned sideways just enough that he was tucked firmly against Billy’s side but Robin could sit next to him and swing her legs over his. Dustin fell on the other side of the couch, but lay over all of them, so his head was on the opposite armrest, and his feet were plopped between Billy’s legs. Billy didn’t even mention it. He just easily brought up that hand on the arm Steve was laying against and ran his fingers back and forth through Steve’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve fell asleep against the plushness of Billy’s chest twenty minutes in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t want him to go back to work the next day, wanted him to stay home and rest, but Steve rubbed Billy’s cheek with his thumb and smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’ll be ok.” He said. Billy huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fat chance.” He answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In any case, Billy left early for the shop the next morning, and Steve left a little earlier than he needed to. He drove to a smaller diner in between their apartment and Billy’s shop and bought a burger and fries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pulled up to the mechanic’s shop and hopped out, bypassed the little waiting room and went straight to the garage. There was one car jacked up and suspended in the air, and another with its hood popped open. Billy was leaning over the engine of the second one. There were two other mechanics milling around, an older man with a balding head and a wad of dip in his mouth, and another, gangly guy with spiky hair who was only a few years older than Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Carter,” Steve greeted the gangly one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey man,” The other replied, and then twisted to call over his shoulder, “‘Ay Billy, Steve’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy jerked up so fast he smacked his head on the hood, cursing wildly, and rubbed hard at his hair as he walked around. Carter and the other man laughed at him, but not meanly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>roomie</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He said sheepishly. “Everything ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, o’course,” Steve answered brightly. “You forgot your lunch, figured I’d run it down.” He held out the takeout back for Billy to grab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thanks,” Billy laughed, light in his eyes. This was one of the funnier charades they played, the “good buddy roommates” routine. Most of the guys Billy worked with had guessed at what they really were, and they were good guys, they didn’t care. But it was always better safe than sorry, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve-and-Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span> was an unspoken thing here, an inside joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s dirty fingers smeared oil on the backs of Steve’s as he grabbed the bag. “Thanks, baby,” He breathed, so quick even Steve almost missed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How's the new job?” Carter asked him from under the suspended car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going great,” Steve answered, and glanced at the big analog clock hanging on the back wall and startled. “Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m gonna be late.” He bolted from the garage. “Thanks for asking, Carter,” He called behind him. The guys in the garage all laughed, shook their heads, and focussed back on the cars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was so distracted trying to get back down the road as fast as he could that he didn’t notice the old yellow station wagon pull out onto the road behind him and follow him, one or two cars between them, all the way down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kim, the warehouse director, came down when Steve walked in (only eight minutes late, that wasn’t too bad, thank God). She was a short woman with long, frizzy curly red hair, who dressed like she was still at Woodstock but walked with a polished wooden cane because some accident had crippled her right foot. She spoke very bluntly, but was also warm and inviting and issued forth the calm, happy, unfazed kind of distinct motherly aura that Steve had to work hard not to crave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steven!” She called to him as she clunkily stepped off the last stair down into the warehouse. She even called him Steven, like his own mom did, see?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kim, I’m so sorry I missed those two days, I promise it’ll never happen again, I just -” Steve began earnestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Steven, hush.” She insisted, smiling disarmingly. She was just in front of him then, and patted his arm. “You needed to take care of yourself, and I’m glad you have a partner who makes sure you do.” Steve flushed, and Kim looked kindly at him. “Also, your items are selling very well. You should be proud of your work. I am.” Steve flushed deeper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” He said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, dear. Now you can go on and get to work, but I’ll need you to go easy on yourself today, is that clear?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve chuckled. “Yeah, yes, loud and clear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She patted his arm. “Very good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved over to his corner of the warehouse, feeling warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alicia had the work station next to his, and she was hunched over a large lump of clay, pushing hard down as it spun. She was a young, wiry girl, right out of school. Her skin was dark and she wore her hair in long braids, and had fully immersed herself in the new UK scene they were calling ‘goth’. She streaked makeup over her eyes every morning, was stretching out her ears, had a wide flat medusa piercing. She had tattoos everywhere, big spider webs and gaping jaws with sharp teeth, dripping blood, a few metallic figures that looked like they were based on the movie Alien. Sometimes she brought in a giant cassette player and blasted screeching music behind her as she worked. Steve didn’t always mind the music, but she only got away with that if they were working late. Alicia was abrasive and guarded, having worked harder, Steve guessed, than anyone else there to get where she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back, Harrington.” She said gruffly. He was surprised at her greeting, but eagerly waved back (and maybe was a little too puppy-like about it, based on how she scoffed).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settled back into his own space easily and got to work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve relaxed into the steady, smooth resistance of the clay spinning in front of him, pumping his foot rhythmically, and really dug his fingers in and watched as the clay melted and moved at his insistence. The warehouse was quiet today, which he was thankful for. Alicia was beside him and Paul was on down at the other end. Cory stopped by for an hour and jumped around and sang and then vanished, and Kim came down once more also to check on Alicia and give her an itinerary for the following week. She paused and patted Steve’s head before leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt more tension that he didn’t even know he was carrying leak out of him, and by the end of the day, when he was stacking the pieces he had finished onto the shelves behind him, he felt as calm as anything. Calm as the Dalai Lama. Calm as the sea. He scrubbed his hands good, digging clay out from under his fingernails and examining the grooves of the skin on his palms before he left. It wasn’t really all that worth it, though, considering how Billy had bought him a steering wheel cover that he could change out sometimes when it got too logged with the clay he inevitably tracked with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Alicia walked out of the warehouse together. He didn’t know her too well, but he thought he could tell that throwing clay all day had the same effect on her, too. He noticed an old yellow station wagon parked a little farther down in the parking lot, its engine humming quietly, exhaust puffing out of its tail pipe. It looked familiar, almost? But Steve couldn’t place it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alicia bumped his elbow with hers as they walked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When’re you gonna bring your boyfriend by?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve spluttered a little. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you</span>
  </em>
  <span> - I mean, how did you - like, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alicia laughed at him, and it only sounded a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean. “Come on, prep. Your ‘partner’ called to tell Paul you were out sick? These people use ‘partner’ because it makes them feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>progressive </span>
  </em>
  <span>and shit. They haven’t figured out they have to use it all the time for it to count. Now ‘partner’ is just code word for queer. So out with it, Chinos, who’s the lucky guy? Tell me about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A man wears a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single pair</span>
  </em>
  <span> of chinos and all of a sudden that’s his defining trait.” Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as he is.” He accused softly, grinning and rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a flat-soda kind of bored look, and then reached up and flicked his ear. He jerked back, affronted, and then rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, ok. His name’s Billy. He’s a mechanic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scintillating.” Alicia deadpanned. “You sound like you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>in </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>and excited to be with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve choked a little on her sarcasm. “We’ve known each other since my last year of high school. He’s from California. We’ve been dating for a few years, and have an apartment together. Sorry, I guess I’m just not used to really talking about… us with people we don’t already know?” She gave him a rare smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured. It’s ok. Glad you got someone, prep.” She said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” He answered, smiling back. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Am I also a preppy little gay boy from Indiana?” She asked. He felt a blush heat his cheeks. “No,” She grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooon</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He whined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, alright. No, I’m not seeing anyone. And before you ask,” She held a finger up to his face, right as he opened his mouth. “I’m pan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at her blankly. “What’s that?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t the booksmart type, are we?” She asked, more as an amused observation. He blushed again, and shrugged. “Pansexual. Means I like everybody. Anybody. The person, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>person. I don’t care what’s on the outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… real zen,” He said, then winced. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say, she just… like… came out to him. He should have been more… caring? Sensitive? If Robin were here, she would have smacked him so hard his skin would have buzzed and prickled after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he should have done didn’t really matter, though, because Alicia threw her head back and laughed. He liked her laugh. It was full, and confident, and contagious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” She said mirthfully. “Yeah, prep, </span>
  <em>
    <span>real zen</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She clapped him on the shoulder then and kept walking. “See ya tomorrow. Bring Billy by sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok,” Steve answered, grinning. “But it’s your fault if he breaks anything.” She flipped him off fondly and swung herself up into a black pickup truck, and rumbled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glanced up at the sky. It was only 6:30 or 7, but it was far enough into winter that the sky was dark and a few stars were visible. He felt a little giddy. He was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn lucky</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have this job. Then, he got into his own car and started driving. He glanced up into his rearview mirror, a little surprised, as the station wagon he had noticed pulled right out behind him and followed him out onto the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve popped a tape into the tape player as he drove, drumming lightly on the steering wheel and bobbing his head. A few cars passed by him in soothing rushes of wind. As it was getting late so early, everyone felt it was later than it was, so the world seemed to move slower. Steve was alright with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Steve eased to a stop at a red light about halfway home, he flipped the tape over to its B side and reflexively checked his rearview mirror. Then he checked it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The… the yellow station wagon was still behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That isn’t that weird.” He reasoned to himself quietly, to the empty passenger seat. This was a small town. He glanced up one more time, trying for casual, trying for smooth, trying for no big deal, to catch a glimpse of the driver behind him, but the driver had the visor pulled down, which kept his face and chin cast in the dark shadows of the street lamp light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a little more weird.” He murmured to the empty car. “Ok, ok, ok…” He thought about it, and he thought hard. He didn’t need to be paranoid, why would anyone be following him? He quickly shoved down the feeling of hands gripping his arms as soldiers dragged him from one room to another, closing his eyes against too bright lights, people shouting at him with words he didn’t understand. Nope, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no thanks.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He cranked the music up louder and drummed more insistently on the steering wheel. He was only feeling this way because he had drudged up what had happened back at the mall the night before. This had happened with Dr. Ben a few times, they had talked about something particularly sensitive and it had fucked him up for a couple days after. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>no big deal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he was not going to be paranoid, Steve kept heading toward home for a few more blocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the station wagon followed him through two more turns, though, his heart started pounding and he had to adjust his sweaty grip on the steering wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started glancing behind him more frequently, started pushing more firmly on the gas pedal, took a few spontaneous turns. Each time he looked in his rearview, the yellow station wagon was still there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, o-o-o-</span>
  <em>
    <span>k, ok, ok,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He mumbled frantically. “Ok, what’re we gonna do? Think, goddamn it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yeah, sure, we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna lead him home.” He took an almost dangerously sharp right turn, wrenching on his steering wheel and </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>imagining the way the car almost felt like it was tilting up on the two right tires. He needed to stop watching so many action flicks. He even heard the squeal of the station wagon’s brakes as it slowed and pulled to take the turn and then cruised up right behind him again, like nothing had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were driving down a quiet residential street now, with only a few dim street lamps mostly blocked by encroaching tree branches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, yep, uuuh… We want to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>around people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, don’t want to be alone, want </span>
  <em>
    <span>light</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He said to himself, making another sharp right turn. This turn didn’t faze the station wagon at all. It took the turn smoothly and was right back on his tail as he led them back into town, by some shops and a couple restaurants that were still open. The people walking on the sidewalks, who didn’t know he existed, didn’t know anything was happening, still calmed his nerves a bit. He wondered if he could get someone’s attention, call for help, but what if the man behind him was, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Or - even worse - what if he wasn’t dangerous at all? What if Steve was trembling all over for nothing? He kept driving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s next? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what do we do now? What would Dustin do?” He said, and laughed a little hysterically. Wait till Dustin heard this one… Hopefully he’d get to tell Dustin this one… Ok, focus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, gotta </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took random, meandering turns, just staying on streets he knew were lit up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dustin would want information</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dustin would want to find out who was in the station wagon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve groaned, bouncing nervously in the seat. The music in the car was turned all the way up, and the tinny sounds of the guitars hurt his ears, but that was good right now. He needed that right now. He was going to crush this tape the </span>
  <em>
    <span>minute </span>
  </em>
  <span>this was over. His fingers itched already, he wanted to snap it in half so bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no oncoming traffic, he noticed after a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving a shout, he ripped his steering wheel to the left, pulling himself onto the wrong side of the road, gripped his gear shift and tugged it into reverse. He revved the engine hard and levelled his car with the station wagon before the other car could really respond, and peered inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man in his late forties stared back at him, expression blank. He was wearing… a very ordinary tan windbreaker, and a pristine white t shirt. His reddish blonde hair was balding, he had deep scarred pockmarks and light freckles on his gaunt cheeks, and he had an obsessively trimmed and maintained ruddy colored mustache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the man started to smile, and Steve felt his stomach drop into a cold pit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Neil Hargrove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck,” Steve screamed at him, at the sky, at himself. He tore the car out of reverse and peeled into drive so fast his tires spun for a second before knocking him forward, and he sped on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced in his rearview again, saw that the station wagon was still behind him, and that this time, Neil Hargroe was leaned forward into the lights of the passing street lamps that made it look like a lightbulb or some big alarm was flashing in his face, and he was laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>New fucking plan. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get away from that crazy son of a bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ok, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve knew these streets better than Hargrove did. He watched the speedometer as he pushed the beemer faster and faster, then slammed on his brakes and turned right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There we go</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He took one more direct right turn, shot down a block, and turned left, and there was enough lag between each turn that he started feeling he was losing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last turn he took brought him to main street, where </span>
  <em>
    <span>(thank holy fuck, god, mama was praying to her angels)</span>
  </em>
  <span> there were other cars on the road. He screeched out in front of two and waved in relief even as they honked at him aggressively, and smiled. He saw Hargrove pull out from the little side street, but now there were two cars between them, and a yellow light on up the way that he slowed for as he came up on it and then zipped right through as soon as it turned red. The cars behind him stopped dutifully, and Hargrove was stuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pushed his hair out of his face and tugged at it hard to get himself to focus. There wasn’t any time to gloat. He had bought himself a couple of minutes, three, maybe five if he was lucky, and this town was small enough that he wasn’t going to loose him too good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, he thought in a gaping panic, Hargrove knew where he worked somehow. So if not </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or the day </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or the day </span>
  <em>
    <span>after that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Hargrove was going to catch up to him. What did he even want? Whatever he had threatened Billy about over the phone? Whatever it was, Neil Hargrove was fucked in the head and Steve knew, acutely, like a punch to the stomach and a needle in his neck, that he was</span>
  <em>
    <span> in danger.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to call Hopper. Like, really </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raced up the streets, taking a few random turns like he was trying to throw Hargrove off his scent, up to the edge of town, to a gas station that he knew still had an old telephone booth out front. He spared a passing, frenzied thought to the fact that it was remarkable he had been tearing through the streets like this and the one night he really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly fucking needed it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, there wasn’t a cop in sight. Hopper’s department was spread thin, sure, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spotted the phonebooth and swung into the parking lot, stopping his car haphazardly behind it, partially up on the sidewalk. He grabbed a handful of quarters from the cupholder and skidded out of the car and into the booth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve dropped three quarters because he was shaking so badly before finally shoving two in, dialled the police station’s number and waited impatiently for Florence to pick up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hawkins police department,” Her droning voice came on the line. “How can I direct yo-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Mrs. Florence, hi. This is Steve Harrington? And I need to talk to Hopper right, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. Please, it’s an emergency.” His voice was shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, honey,” Florence answered, sounding concerned. “I’ll put you through right now.” The line went static-y for a minute and Steve’s heart pounded, afraid the call had dropped or something, before Hopper’s gruff, unaffected voice came through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harrington? Florence said you sounded upset, what’s -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopper, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Steve cut over him. “I’m at the Sunoco on Pleasant Grove, Neil Hargrove has been chasing me for… </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I don’t know how long. Since I - Since I got off work at like 7.” His voice broke a little. “I lost him for a second, at a light on main, but I know he’s coming and he’s gonna find me and I don’t know what to do or what he wants -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hopper’s voice cut through, harsh and clipped. “You listen to me, son, Steve, I need you to calm down and pay attention. You got me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve said, voice strained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure it was Hargrove.” Hopped confirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Hop,” Steve stressed. “I saw him, I realized someone was following me so I didn’t go home, I was just driving around, and then I pulled back to see who and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s been calling our apartment -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know.” Hopper said soothingly. “Billy told me. Alright, is he on you right now? You think you lost him for a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - I think so, yeah. Yeah.” Steve answered, looking around at the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok. If you think you have time, you go somewhere you feel safe, somewhere with other people, and you wait there for me. Ok? If you need to, you go right into the gas station.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t - he isn’t here yet. I can go somewhere closer to you?” Steve asked. He was still high on adrenaline, brain moving too fast to actually feel like he was making rational decisions. “I can go to Billy’s shop, I know the people there, and it’s closer to you. I think…” He remembered, like he had been struck, that he had seen the station wagon at the shop this morning. “Billy’s dad already knows where that is, but that’s good, right? If I lead him there, you can arrest him, you can</span>
  <em>
    <span> get him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few cars zoomed down the street, and Steve jumped at the noise, then refocused on what Hopper was saying. He cradled the phone against his shoulder and ear and pushed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, feeling the pressure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I don’t want to put you in any more danger. Let’s get you safe first, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I want this bastard gone.” Steve answered, steeling his nerves suddenly. “I’m going, I’m going to find him and lead him there. Meet me there.” The yellow station wagon careened into the parking lot, narrowly missing the beemer, and Neil Hargrove bolted out. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, shit, shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve -” Hopper called, and Steve hung up on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purely on instinct, Steve shoved the sliding door of the phonebooth closed, pressing his hands against it to keep Hargrove from trying to slide it open, and planting his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hargrove looked delighted, like he had caught his prey in a glass box, and stalked up so close to the door that his nose was almost touching it, his breath almost fogging it up. He smiled in the way Steve thought all fucking psychopaths probably did, in that way that seemed almost genuine but never reached their eyes. He reached out and gripped the handle of the sliding door, tugging on it a little to test Steve’s leverage on it, but lightly enough that Steve thought he was just playing with him. Teasing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, </span>
  <em>
    <span>little boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, open up.” Hargrove said, wrapping one knuckle on the door. His teeth were straight but yellowed at the roots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you want?” Steve asked, almost yelled it, but didn’t think he would have had enough control to stop his voice from trembling at a lower volume.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language,” Hargrove tsked, tapping at the glass with his fingertips. “I want to see my son. He knows. And maybe I want to teach you two…” He paused, and Steve saw his composure slip away like a veil. “</span>
  <b>
    <em>A FUCKING LESSON</em>
  </b>
  <span>.” He roared, spit flying from his mouth and hitting the glass between them. All at once he took hold of the handle and gave an almighty pull. Steve cried out and put his shoulder against it from his side, shoving his foot against the opposite wall and laying all his weight on it. Hargrove had moved so suddenly, though, that the door gave way just a little, and he started shoving his fingers into the gap of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Steve yelped as he watched the fingers curl around the door and adjust their hold. He reared back just a little, just enough to throw himself at the door again, and closed Hargrove’s fingers hard into the frame. Hargrove let out a strangled shriek, but didn’t relax his hold like Steve was hoping. Instead, his rage seemed to fill him with a directed strength which he used to crank open the door and bodily shove his own shoulder into the gap, pushing hard. With his hurt hand now free, he shot it inside the booth and gripped Steve by the hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve cursed again but didn’t have time to respond otherwise, because Hargrove had fully forced himself into the booth and now, with his regained footing, was able to pull Steve back by his hair and slam his face into the glass. Steve smacked his nose against the glass hard, yelped again, and couldn’t recover to keep Hargrove from grabbing his jacket in his fist and dragging him out onto the sidewalk. Hargrove reared two punches straight to Steve’s stomach, and he doubled over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desperate, he swung himself back up as Hargrove was bending over to pull him up again, and the back of his head connected with Hargrove’s jaw so directly that it made a sharp </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hargrove stumbled back, enraged, clutching his jaw, and Steve aimed one more powerful kick to Hargrove’s knee. He didn’t waste any more time, though, just bolted to his car, fumbled jerkily with his keys, before firing the engine up and swinging the car out of the lot. The tape came back on again, so loudly and so suddenly that he jumped hard. He turned it off as fast as he could, tears welling in his eyes. Jesus, after everything that just happened, </span>
  <em>
    <span>getting scared by music</span>
  </em>
  <span> was what was going to make him cry? That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffed hard and it turned out that the movement started up a thick throbbing in his nose. He brought up a hand and touched the length of one finger to the bottom of his tender nose and then brought his hand back. Sure enough, there was thin, bright red blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced in the rearview mirror behind him, and sure enough, there was the yellow station wagon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart thumping, Steve drove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drove fast, taking a few random turns to keep up an exhausted charade that he was still trying to lose Hargrove, but headed to Billy’s shop. He desperately hoped that Hopper would be there by the time he had gotten there. Told himself over and over again that it would all be ok if he could just </span>
  <em>
    <span>make it there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>trying my hand at cliffhangers lol we can all pretend like I know where this story is going, right?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Saint Bernard by Lincoln</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>oof, this one was hard to churn out, just wasn't comin to me, but it's done lol</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Steve swerved into the parking lot of Billy’s shop, Hargrove took the turn behind him a little too sharply and had to overcorrect to keep on Steve’s tail. The parking lot was empty, and the garage doors were closed, but the lights inside the main building were still on. The waiting room was at the front of the main building, and it had huge open windows where Steve could see stacks of tires, the standing desk in the left corner, the chairs lining the walls under the windows. There was no one there.</p><p>Steve pulled his car right up to the entrance of the waiting room and hopped out. He sprinted to the door and only pushed it open enough to slip through before shoving his shoulder against it. He turned the dead bolt on the door and let himself feel a little bit of dizzy relief before turning around to face the empty waiting room.</p><p>“Hello?” He called, voice sounding congested because of the pain in his nose and (maybe) the tears he had harshly wiped off his cheeks. “Is anyone there? <em> Please </em>?”</p><p>No response.</p><p>Steve shrieked when the door rattled wildly behind him. Hargrove shook the door, face distorted in a sneer, those two high spots of color still pricking his cheeks. Steve watched him, unable to move until Hargrove stopped shaking the door and glared in at him. Then, he darted off to the side, heading toward the garage. Steve glanced at his right and saw the door that led from the waiting room into the garage, ran over and locked that one as well. Then, even as Hargrove began banging and shoving and pulling on the closed garage doors, Steve took off down the hallway.</p><p>“Is anyone here?” He called again, peeking into dark office doorways and throwing open bathroom doors. He shivered and vibrated with anxiety but when he made it to the end of the hallway, he saw a heavier door that led out back propped open with a brick, and pushed himself back out into the cold.</p><p>Carter was there, leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. He startled hard when Steve stumbled out next to him.</p><p>“Steve?” He asked. “What are you doing here, man? Billy went home <em> hours </em>ago.” He said, and then caught a look at his face. “Dude, your nose -”</p><p>“I know,” Steve said, grabbing his arm. “You gotta get inside. Please, I’m waiting for the police, we gotta <em> get inside </em>.” He insisted. Carter dropped the cigarette on the ground and let Steve pull him. Steve locked the door behind them.</p><p>“What’s going on, Steve?” Carter asked as he followed him back down the hallway. Steve scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to regulate his breathing a little.</p><p>“Billy’s dad,” Steve answered quickly. “He’s a <em> psychopath </em>. Like full on crazy. He’s been calling the apartment, trying to get… shit, I don’t know, trying to get something from Billy. Money? I think? But he followed me to my work and has been tailing me all night. He… c-cornered me in a telephone booth when I was calling the cops and smashed my nose -”</p><p>“Holy shit,” Carter breathed. At first, Steve thought it was in reaction to his story, but he found out pretty quick that that wasn’t it at all. Carter was looking out the front window.</p><p>Hargrove had a hefty pocket knife clutched in his fist, and was slashing Steve’s tires.</p><p>“What the <em> fuck </em>?” Steve cried, distressed, running forward a few steps before even thinking about what he was doing. </p><p>Hargrove shot up while he watched Steve move closer, delighted that he was drawing him out. Steve stopped abruptly and backpedaled into Carter as Hargrove stalked back up to the door. Carter pulled Steve behind him and made to approach Hargrove, who hesitated a little at being confronted by a new face. Steve grabbed Carter’s shirt sleeve.</p><p>“Wait, no,” Steve gasped. “Just leave it. We just have to wait till the cops come.”</p><p>“There ain’t any cameras or anything, those ones are fake.” Carter spat, motioning discreetly to the boxes with black lenses on the ceiling, facing the front door. “I can knock him around some and nobody’d know. Jackass piece ‘a’ <em> shit </em> slashin’ your tires. Billy told me about him.” He sucked his teeth. “I <em> sure would like </em> to show him a thing or two about knockin’ a kid around.”</p><p>Steve didn’t let go of his shirt. “Me too, man.” He said quietly. Carter looked at him then. “But look at him. He’s got a knife, the restraining order didn’t even slow him down… He’s a wild card. Who knows what he’d do. And unless you're planning on <em>killing him</em>, this isn't gonna go away. We gotta wait for the cops.” </p><p>Carter glared back out the window briefly at Hargrove, who was staring impassively back at them, unmoving. </p><p>“Yeah, alright.” He said finally, easily clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll watch <em> Jason </em> over here, you want to go clean up your face in the bathroom?” Steve froze for a minute, feeling hard pressed to take his eyes off Hargrove. “Hey,” Carter said much more gently. “I’ll keep an eye on him, I promise. Go on, you’re good now. I got it.” He almost did turn around to leave when movement caught his eye from out front. </p><p>“Wait - wait, he’s… Leaving?” Steve said. Carter turned to look, too. Sure enough, Hargrove was walking to his car.</p><p>“Maybe he’s going to try and wait us out, maybe he doesn’t know you called the cops?” Carter guessed.</p><p>But Hargrove pulled open the trunk of his car, leaned inside to grab something, and then came walking right back to the front.</p><p>“<em> No fuckin’ way </em>.” Carter breathed.</p><p>Neil Hargrove came back to the front door with a tire iron.</p><p>Steve felt cold all over, staring in unbelief as Hargrove choked up on the tire iron and swung it, hook side first, at the glass door. He and Carter both flinched as the door rattled and the reverberations from the force of his hit seemed to carry through the windows almost surrounding them. Involuntarily, they hunched closer together.</p><p>“This guy’s <em> insane </em>.” Carter said.</p><p>Steve could feel himself starting to shake harder. If he could just <em> goddamn focus </em>. “Hopper’ll be here soon.” He said. “The police, the police’ll be here soon. Hopper’s coming.”</p><p>Another hit at the glass took a chunk the size of a dime out of the door. </p><p>“What do we do if this fucker actually breaks the door down?” Carter asked, apprehension heavy in his tone.</p><p>Steve laughed, breathless and manic. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Run out the back?”</p><p>Hargrove swung the tire iron at the door again, taking another piece of the glass with him about five inches away from the first one. A crack splintered between the two spots. Carter and Steve both shook.</p><p>Carter nodded. “My truck’s out there. We should go to the police station.” He said.</p><p>Steve glanced desperately down the street both ways, looking for the spinning light of Hopper’s car. <em> Where the fuck was he? </em></p><p>The tire iron connected once more and there was a splintering <em> crack </em> from the glass.</p><p>“<em> Shit </em> . Shit, yeah, ok. <em> Fuck </em>. I’m going to call the station again and tell them.” Steve said, and darted over to the standing desk in the corner. There was a landline sitting there in the back. Steve grabbed the receiver and was dialing the number when Carter hissed,</p><p>“Steve, Steve, wait -” </p><p>Steve looked at Carter, who had turned to face him stiffly, eyes wide. But there was a disbelieving, relieved smile tugging at his mouth that assuaged Steve’s anxiety a little.</p><p>“Look out the door but not for too long. Don’t clue him in.”</p><p>Steve looked at Hargrove, flinched when the tire iron connected and a spiderweb of cracks bloomed from the hit, and then glanced over Hargrove’s shoulder.</p><p>Hopper was creeping up behind Hargrove, gun clenched in his fist, on the other side of Steve’s beemer. He must have come up quietly, maybe even pulled in behind the building and crept around. When Hargrove saw Steve looking out the window, he stopped hammering on the glass. Steve snapped his eyes to Hargrove’s, not wanting to tip him off to Hopper’s presence. Hargrove smiled wide and licked his teeth <em>in a way that reminded him of</em>… Steve was going to be sick.</p><p>Hopper had gotten right where he wanted to be, pressed with his hip up against Steve’s car, the barrel of his gun aimed squarely at Hargrove’s back. Even through the thick glass, he heard Hopper shout at Hargrove in a gravelly voice.</p><p>“Mr. Hargrove, put down the weapon and <em>slowly</em> turn around with your hands up.”</p><p>Carter turned back then, and Steve came out from behind the desk to stand next to him. Hargrove froze with the tire iron up in the air, still tracking Steve’s movements carefully. Carter must have noticed the same thing, because he edged up a little so he was partially in front of Steve again.</p><p>“I’m going to need you to put. The tire iron. Down.” Hopper repeated coldly.</p><p>Hargrove dropped it, and it clanged hard on the ground. As soon as it dropped from his hand, Steve felt tension and fear rush out of him and he stumbled forward a little.</p><p>Carter glanced between Steve and the scene outside for a moment, startled, before guiding Steve over to the plastic chairs gently and motioning for him to sit down. He did, and just then registered the pounding in his head, focused around his nose. He groaned and let his head fall into his hands.</p><p>“Mr. Hargrove, you are under arrest for violation of a restraining order and destruction of property…” Hopper’s muffled voice droned on.</p><p>Steve watched blearily as Hopper snapped handcuffs on Neil Hargrove’s wrists and grabbed him by the collar.</p><p>Officer Powell rolled up in another cop car, blue and red light spinning on top. Hopper shoved Hargrove into the backseat of Powell’s car. Steve noticed he didn’t guard Hargrove’s head, so he hit it sharply on the top of the car door.</p><p>Then Hopper came back and rapped on the still locked door. Carter jogged over and twisted the deadbolt from the lock.</p><p>“You all ok?” Hopper rasped, scraping at his beard. The wiry hairs made a stiff scratching noise.</p><p>Steve raised his aching head and Hopper’s eyes widened briefly and then softened.</p><p>“You ok, Harrington?” He repeated, moving over to sit next to him. The plastic squeaked as he shifted. Steve tried to smile at him reassuringly but it probably came out as more of a grimace.</p><p>“I’m ok now.” Steve answered.</p><p>“That was good work, drawing him this way. I’ll take you both down to the station with me so I can get your statements, ok? And then we’ll get you home safe.” He settled a big meaty hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve may have leaned into it a few more beats than were absolutely necessary, but neither Carter nor Hopper called him on it.</p><p>“Why don’t you run to the bathroom and clean up a little? And then you can follow me on over?” Hopper asked.</p><p>“I, uh…” Steve cleared his throat, but it didn’t help the thin, wavering quality in his voice. “He slashed my tires.”</p><p>Hopper’s eyes hardened briefly, steely with a dangerous metallic anger. His hand’s grip tightened on Steve’s shoulder for an instant before loosening again and patting him on the back.</p><p>“Go wash up, I’ll drive you over.” Hopper instructed firmly. Might as well have ordered it. Honestly, that helped cut through the thick haze that was starting to settle over his brain.</p><p>So, Steve resolutely turned on his heel and walked down the hallway. He flipped on the uncomfortable blue-white lights in the bathroom and approached the mirror to survey the damage done. And… <em>well</em>. Holy shit. There was already purple creeping down under both eyes, and blood was smeared all across his cheek and jaw from where he must have unconsciously swiped at it. It was drying in thin, dark streaks. No wonder Hopper had done a double take.</p><p>He leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face, trying to be as easy as possible as he scrubbed the dried blood clumped in the fine hairs of his upper lip. His eyes started watering and he tugged a couple of paper towels from the dispenser. He pumped a little hand soap onto the towels, ran them under the water from the faucet as it warmed just a little. Then, he rubbed the towel between his palms until it began sudsing. He used it to wash the rest of the blood from his face. It turned the towel a rusty purple-red.</p><p>Steve didn’t bother looking in the mirror again. Instead, he shuffled out of the bathroom and back into the waiting room where Carter and Hopper were standing by the door.</p><p>“I’m gonna call my boss and tell him what happened. I can tow your car into a garage and we can fix it back up for you in the next couple days. Then I’ll close up and head over.” Carter told Steve. Steve nodded.</p><p>“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you to the station.” Hopper said gruffly, thumping him on the back and then subtly returning his hand to Steve’s shoulder, using it to steer Steve down the parking lot to where he had parked his truck around the corner, and to feel how Steve had begun, just a little bit, to shiver. His muscles were drawn tight still, shoulders up around his ears, teeth clenched. And he was cold, in a kind of way that felt like the cold was coming from inside him, like he was trapped in an icebox that had suctioned to his skin, and he could tell there was warmer air around him but he couldn’t get to it. By the time Hopper had led him, unseeing, around to the passenger side, he was trembling so bad that Hopper shrugged off his old police jacket that smelled strongly of cigarettes and fire. Steve silently pulled the jacket around himself and climbed into the passenger seat.</p><p>Hopper didn’t say anything on the drive back over to the station. Steve kept shivering, but the adrenaline fleeing his body left him shockingly tired, and his head kept bobbing as he tried to stay awake. Eventually, he leaned his aching head against the cool glass of the window and drifted a little, watching the passing beams of street lights glint off the metal of the car door.</p><p>--</p><p>Officer Powell had already, swiftly, booked Hargrove and shoved him into a holding cell at the back of the station, out of sight by the time Steve got there. Hopper led him inside and over into his office, where he switched on the lamp in the corner and the lamp on his desk and then patted the cushioned chair in front of Steve. Steve sat in the chair, but only right on the edge, nervous again. He used one thumb nail to scrap at the skin between his thumb and pointer finger on the other hand.</p><p>"Sit here for a second, ok, bud?" Hopper said amiably, but keeping his voice quiet. Steve nodded tightly.</p><p>Hopper left and Steve sat in the buzzing quiet, with the unobtrusive, dim, but warm lamp light. It wasn't too long before Hopper rapped a knuckle on the door to warn Steve of his presence, politely did not mention it when Steve jumped at the sound, and came trailing back in with two mugs in his hands.</p><p>"Florence said it was too late for coffee, so she mixed up a hot chocolate packet for you." He said. Steve took the mug with a subdued thanks. The warmth felt good between his hands.Then, Hopper walked around to the other side of his desk and leaning back in his own chair. He set his own cup of coffee down on the desk with a thick porcelain thunk, and opened a desk drawer to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Pointedly, he did not offer one to Steve. “Let’s get this done quick but right so we can put the bastard away, yeah?” Hopper said, lighting up a cigarette. </p><p>Steve nodded a little too fast, a little too frantic, and then took a deep breath. He took a sip of the hot chocolate to cover it up. All he tasted was blood. Instead, after that, he just held the mug up to his chest so its warmth rested right on his sternum.</p><p>“Alright,” Hopper said, pulling out a pad of yellow paper and a pen. “Start from the beginning.”</p><p>Steve started retelling what happened at the beginning of the day, when he realized he had first noticed Hargrove’s car. Then he went on through all of the night’s events. They had to stop once, because as mortifying as it was, he had started tearing up and sniffed a little too harshly, making his nose start bleeding again. Steve tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling his shirt sleeve down long enough to catch the wayward line of blood, letting it pool against the fabric before it started to soak in. Awkwardly, Hopper grimaced a little and left the room for a moment, bringing a tissue box back with him and passing it to Steve without saying anything. Steve held a wad of tissues against his nose and started talking again, just wanting to get this nightmare over with. </p><p>The whole report probably only lasted about twenty minutes, as he stuck only to gruffly retelling the bare-bone facts. He didn’t talk about how scared he was. He didn’t talk about how he realized, after, half of his decisions hadn’t <em> really </em> felt like <em> conscious decisions </em>, or maybe his brain was just already blocking out some of the events because he was still wild with anxiety. Somehow, though, he thought Hopper probably got it. He caught Hopper glancing down at his bouncing leg and he realized near the end that Hopper hadn’t asked for his jacket back. He was appreciative for that: the coat was big enough that he felt… hidden in it. It felt safe.</p><p>Distantly, belatedly, Steve noticed that there was some sort of commotion happening out outside of the door. He heard a few voices, at least two were growling men’s, and one was Florence’s. He couldn’t tell. He tensed again, glancing back at Hopper, whose face had hardened again and gone stormy.</p><p>“Wait here for just a minute, Steve.” He said softly, and as he walked around the desk to the door he made sure to pat Steve reassuringly on the shoulder. “What the hell is going on?” Hopper yelled harshly as soon as he made it out into the hallway. </p><p>Steve flinched and was grateful when Hopper closed the door. The voices continued for a moment before falling into more subdued tones, and then Hopper reentered. He closed the door behind him again.</p><p>“Billy’s here.” Hopper said by way of explanation. “Is there anything you want to add to your report?”</p><p>“No,” Steve answered, relieved and exhausted. “You came after he brought out the tire iron, that’s all there was.”</p><p>Hopper nodded. “Alright, well why don’t you go out and stop your boy from getting too rough with my officers?” He asked.</p><p>Steve tossed him a watery smile and tried to stand on shaky legs. “Oh, and… here, you can take your -” He started to shrug off Hopper’s jacket, but Hopper stopped him.</p><p>“Eh, you keep it for now. You can get it back to me whenever.” He interjected. Steve tried not to look too relieved, but wasn’t sure he was successful, because Hopper gave him a little smile.</p><p>“Thanks, Hop.” Steve said. Hopper ushered him outside.</p><p>Steve stepped out of Hopper’s office and into the hallway just as Billy snarked back to one of the officers, “Hey Deputy Dipshit, use some of your detective skills and tell me it looks like I care right now.”</p><p>“I understand that you’re under stress right now,” Officer Powell was trying to placate him. “We’re trying to make this process go as quickly and smoothly as possible, you just need to -”</p><p>“What do I need to fuckin’ do?” Billy challenged. Steve rounded the corner just in time to see Billy push right up into Powell’s face, shoulders held way back, posturing like crazy. He just had on jeans and a dark red sweatshirt, hadn’t even bothered to grab a coat or anything. “No, <em> tell me </em>. What do I need to do?” He dared him.</p><p>“Billy,” Steve tried to call. And shit, he hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so thready and wobbling.</p><p>Billy instantly spun around, forgetting Powell easy as anything. He stuttered in his steps when he caught a glimpse of Steve’s bruised and bloody face, but kept going. </p><p>“Steve,” He whispered. Steve wished he didn’t sound so heartbroken, because maybe he could have kept the tears from gathering in his eyes. Billy wrapped his arms tightly around Steve, one under his armpit and one more gently around his neck, pulling him in to tuck his chin against Billy’s shoulder. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Billy breathed into Steve’s hair.</p><p>Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to move any more, except to lean more heavily against Billy.</p><p>“You’re shakin’,” Billy said, rubbing his hands on Steve’s arms. </p><p>Hopper cleared his throat. “It’s shock.” He told them. “It’s, uh, normal. After something like this. I’ve got Steve’s statement now so you all can go on home, unless you want to see him.”</p><p>Steve felt a jolt of panic as he pulled away from Billy’s hug to face Hopper. <em> See </em> him? <em> Why the fuck… </em></p><p>“Where is the bastard?” Billy growled, sounding like he had gargled concrete.</p><p>“We’ve got ‘im in a cell in the back.” Hopper answered, and then looked at Steve. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just thought it might help, for you to see that we got ‘im.”</p><p>Billy kept a grip on Steve’s elbow that was just shy of painful, but it was what Steve needed right then. He nodded at Hopper.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll see him.” He said softly. Hopper nodded and led them both back down the dimly lit hallway, past his office and two bathrooms, a closet with the door propped open, showing propped up mops and brooms and cleaning supplies, all the way down to where the hallway opened back up to a full room. The floors of this room were cold, green tile. There were three holding cells with green bars, each complete with an open toilet and a cot. Neil Hargrove was sitting on the cot in the last cell, elbows on his knees, fingers tented against each other. He was glaring at the floor, but when he heard the three enter, his head slowly raised up.</p><p>Steve didn’t know how he had expected himself to react, but standing frozen and not being sure how to breathe was not what he had expected.</p><p>“D’you give him that shiner, pretty boy?” Billy murmured. Steve shook his head as he looked a little closer. Sure enough, one of Neil’s eyes was so swollen he couldn’t tell if it was open to look at him. It was angry and purple-red. The bruise on his chin was coming through as well, a sickly green-purple in the fluorescent lights above him.</p><p>“Nu uh,” Steve shot back quietly. “I gave him the one on his chin.”</p><p>They both shot looks at Hopper, who stared placidly back at them. Billy snorted.</p><p>“Good.” He said.</p><p>Then he turned his attention back to Neil, who was leaned back on his cot so his shoulders were against the concrete brick wall, stretching back with indifference.</p><p>“Well, William, good to finally see you.” He said.</p><p>Billy sneered. “Yeah, worked out so great for you.” He spat back.</p><p>“Now don’t forget what I taught you,” Neil told him, voice sickly condescending and cloying, pulling itself out of his mouth like rotting taffy. “Enough with that <em> tone </em>.”</p><p>“How you gonna remind me from behind bars, motherfucker?” Billy asked, taking a challenging step forward.</p><p>Steve was still frozen, eyes wide and unblinking, when Neil turned to look at him.</p><p>“Maybe <em> Steve </em> could give me some ideas.” Neil answered, and began to smile. <em> Breathe </em> , Steve thought desperately to himself. <em> Gotta breathe, goddammit </em>.</p><p>“You are <em> so fuckin’ lucky </em> you’re already goin’ away.” Billy said. This time his voice was flat. Somehow that made more of an impression than all the raging and shouting he could have done. “Get a good long look at me now, <em> dad </em>. This is the last time you’re ever gonna see my face.” Then he turned, oh so preciously calm, to Steve. “Come on, let’s go home.” He said quietly. Steve felt the thumb still on his elbow rub in comforting circles.</p><p>Steve stumbled a little as he let himself be led back out of the holding room and down the hallway. Hopper brought up the rear, a comforting bulk between Steve and the man back in the cell behind them.</p><p>“You take Steve on back now.” Hopper told Billy. “I’ve got the statement, I should be able to lay this case down no trouble. I’ll keep you all updated.”</p><p>Billy nodded once, but didn’t say anything else. Steve got it, and he thought Hopper probably got it, too. Billy was a stranger to the law helping him, <em> especially </em>when it came to his dad. He was an ‘I’ll believe it when I see it’ skeptic, and Steve couldn’t blame him. But he trusted Hopper.</p><p>“Thank you,” Steve said, looking up at the thick stubble on Hopper’s cheek, not quite at his eyes.</p><p>“Hey, c’mere.” Hopper said, sounding awkward and still a little aggressive, but he moved toward Steve <em> slowly </em> , raised his hands <em> slowly </em>, so he didn’t startle him. Instead, he pulled Steve in for a hug. Steve, so briefly, hugged him back. Neither mentioned the other sniffing or swiping at their eyes as they pulled away, but Hopper laid a hand on Steve’s head and ruffled his hair as he moved back. “We got him, kid. We got him. You’re ok.”</p><p>Steve took a rattling breath that was deeper and clearer than he had been able to all night. He nodded.</p><p>Billy ushered him out of the station and into the camaro parked out front. In the cold winter night air, Steve felt so tired that his vision went bleary. He opened the passenger door and gently pushed Steve to sit in it. Steve’s legs felt too heavy to lift them. Billy must have gotten the picture because he grabbed Steve’s ankles and lifted them up and inside the car. Then, Billy cupped Steve’s cheek softly.</p><p>“Buckle up for me, ok, baby?” He asked. Then he closed Steve’s door and jogged around to the other side.</p><p>Steve did reach up to grab the buckle after a moment, pulled it across his body with herculean effort. Billy swung himself into the driver’s seat, turned the car on, switched gears and pulled out of the parking lot.</p><p>They had to park a block and a half away from their apartment building. Steve looked out at the sidewalk, knowing he was going to have to walk it, and felt terrible, heavy, petulant tears. He was fucking <em> tired </em> , but walking shouldn’t feel <em> hard </em>, he just wanted to go to sleep until he forgot any of this ever happened. Billy reached over and squeezed his hand.</p><p>“Almost home,” He whispered.</p><p>Steve nodded, swallowing hard, and forced himself up out of the car. They walked to their building, and they made it up the stairs, and Billy unlocked their apartment because Steve’s keys were still<em> in his fucked up car at the garage </em> . Steve’s breath hitched a little again. He was <em> so tired </em>. </p><p>As soon as the door closed and they were alone in their dark hallway, Billy gently cupped Steve’s face in between his hands and covered his cheeks with soft, barely-touching kisses.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Billy whispered. “This is all my fault,<em> he hurt you </em>, I’m so sorry - what happened? Wait, no, you don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight, you already gave your statement and everything.”</p><p>In the dark, Steve finally gave in and began crying in earnest. He took in little hiccups of air and let fat tears roll down his cheeks. He didn’t move at all, his limbs felt too heavy, and he felt overwhelmed by the loving touches Billy was laying on him - felt like they were making him cry harder - but he prayed to God they would never stop. </p><p>“You’re <em> ok </em> now, baby, you’ll <em> be ok </em>. I’ve got you. What can I do?” Billy swiped as gently as he could at the wet under Steve’s eyes, careful of the bruises he knew were there.</p><p>“Let’s just sleep,” Steve whispered. </p><p>“<em> Of course, </em> honey, let’s get ready for bed. Can you come and brush your teeth and wash your face for me first?”</p><p>Steve balked at the tasks set before him, feeling how heavy the pull on his eyes were. But he nodded reluctantly. Billy took his hand and led him into the bathroom. He let Steve brush his teeth sluggishly while he wet a washcloth and washed his face for him. Then Billy led them into Steve’s room and sat Steve down on his bed before finding clothes to sleep in. </p><p>Steve pulled off his clothes and kicked them under the bed. Billy came back with a long sleeve t with their old highschool basketball team logo on it and let Steve pull it over his head. Billy had grabbed a big plain grey cotton tshirt for himself, and he stripped down to his boxers, kicked his jeans and sweatshirt under the bed with Steve’s, and they both climbed under the covers. </p><p>They rolled over to face each other, huddling close, because they always kept it a little cooler in the apartment to save on electricity bills. Steve reached out and took hold of the hem of Billy’s soft tshirt. Billy let out a long, wet sigh, and stroked at Steve’s hip.</p><p>After a few beats, Steve slept.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Alive with the Glory of Love by Say Anything</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finishing strong!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Steve woke up tired when the sky out of his window was turning an ashy orange in the winter sunrise. He and Billy had shifted through the night so that Billy’s head was on his chest, nose snuffling against the chest hair at his nipple. He lay still for a while, feeling the weight of sleep on his limbs, staring at the popcorn ceiling above him. It had sparkles in it. He’d never known why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear and adrenaline from last night felt like a phantom limb. His brain was sluggish about processing everything that had happened, so he took the time he had found just then to feel and think about nothing. His nose felt like it had been stuffed with steel cotton, so he had to breath through his mouth and try not to sniff. His throat hurt. He watched the light change on his ceiling as the sun rose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve felt a familiar blanket of anxiety and insecurity static-cling to his skin as he thought about getting out of bed. He shivered as he thought about going to work, and then was struck with a cold sense of rebellion against those feelings. Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>was he going to let </span>
  <em>
    <span>Neil fucking Hargrove</span>
  </em>
  <span> take that job away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, he scooted out from under his boyfriend, trying with precise motions and concentrated breathing to stifle a dry, painful cough. He could feel the sweat cold on his body, and rushed to the shower to rinse the grime away. He gave himself the small luxury of standing under the water and just… drifting, for a moment, focusing on the sounds of water droplets pecking at the plastic shower curtain, the vent buzzing and rattling over him. He opened his mouth under the stream and took a mouthful of hot water in. The water felt weird in his mouth, like he only felt it because he knew he was supposed to feel it, but his throat wasn’t so raw after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes still stung with sleep but after a while he did wonder if that was the swelling, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he turned off the water and pulled the towel down from where he had slung it over the curtain rod and dried off before wrapping it around his shoulders. Then he pushed the shower curtain back and yelped because Billy was right there, putting his toothbrush back on their tiny ceramic stand next to the sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, fuck -” Steve croaked. “Warn a guy, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy looked back at him, guarded but admittedly sheepish. “Sorry.” He mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be sorry, Bill,” Steve answered, sounding congested, smiling tentatively back at him. “Don’t gotta be sorry.” He stepped closer and brushed a passing hand over Billy’s shoulder before fixing his towel around his hips and sliding over to brush his own teeth. The steam of the shower was making his nose run, but anytime he tried to sniff, it sent painful twinges up his nose and under his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t move. Steve didn’t notice at first, and then when he noticed he didn’t say anything for a little while. He finished brushing his teeth before casting a questioning glance at Billy, who hurriedly looked away but otherwise did not respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitant, Steve continued with his routine, pulling out a leave-in conditioner to run through his hair and watching Billy from the corner of his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy didn’t raise his eyes to look at him again, just turned around to rest his ass on the counter and stared at the floorboard opposite him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I was thinkin’ about?” Steve asked lightly. “How right now I’m like every Mouth Breather El’s ever made fun of.” He snickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy did look at him then, with an affronted but amused look that said neither of them should find that funny right now. That was enough of a reaction from him to satisfy Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bumped their shoulders together fondly as he moved past him out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom to get dressed, thankful for the warmer carpeting in the hallway that kept a little distance between his naked skin and the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was rifling through his drawers for a sweater to wear under his work overalls when Billy appeared back in the doorway, leaning against the frame to try and look casual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not goin’ to work today, are you?” Billy asked, looking in alarm at the overalls Steve had half pulled on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am,” Steve answered incredulously, looking back at him. “I already missed two days this week, I’m still too new at this warehouse to not worry about losing my job.” He insisted, and then tried to backtrack when he watched Billy’s face go blank except for the upset furrow of his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the sweater on over his head (it was baby blue) and was clasping one strap of the overalls over his shoulder as he walked over to Billy. Billy looked stoically down at the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby,” Steve said, ducking his head to try and catch Billy’s gaze. “I’m ok, I promise. I’ll be ok. I need to let this not affect me for a couple hours, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy glowered at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and pushing himself up off the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. I’m coming with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve paused. “You… what?” He stuttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think for a second I’m gonna let you out of my sight, you’ve got another thing coming.” Billy told him gruffly, pointing a threatening finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But then you’ll miss </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>shift,” Steve pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that,” Billy scoffed. “They won’t give a shit. I’m coming with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve chuckled. “I mean… if you want to, sure, I guess -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had already disappeared across the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was in the kitchen making them coffee when the phone rang. He jumped, and set the mugs down a little too harshly, but then took a deep breath, thought to himself harshly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>d’you think he’s gonna waste his one phonecall on calling just to scare you or some shit, stupid?</span>
  </em>
  <span> and answered the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, this is Steve,” He murmured, unable to swallow the nervous lump in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve!” A warm, surprised voice answered. “Hey man, how’re you doin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Carter, hi,” Steve said, trying not to sound too relieved. “I’m good, I’m good. I mean… shit, you know, I’m better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, dude, last night was fuckin’ <em>batshit crazy</em>, man. Hey, listen, is Billy there? Boss wanted him to take a personal day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed a little. “I’ll get him, give me a second.” He put the receiver down and swung his head around the corner in the hallway next to Billy’s door. “Hey, Bill, phone. It’s Carter.” He said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy grumbled something that Steve couldn’t make out, or maybe they weren’t words at all, and brushed past him into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H’llo,” Billy grunted into the receiver. He listened. “Yeah, alright.” He said warily. “He wha- no, not yet. Was going to soon.” His jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, and Steve started getting nervous. “Alright, I will. Thanks, Carter.” He hung up and turned around to look at Steve, face carefully blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked at him, concerned (with a little forlorn dose of puppy eyes, maybe. Couldn't hurt.).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop looking so goddamn pathetic at me,” Billy grumbled, crossing his arms and then immediately after pulling one hand back out to rub over his face. “I’ll wait if you’re not ready to talk about it, but… jesus… He tried to beat the door in?” He looked like he felt so fucking guilty. Steve went over to him and pushed himself into his arms, pushing his head up under Billy’s chin like a cat and settling there around him for a moment. In increments, he felt Billy start to settle again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can talk about it.” He said, but mumbled against Billy’s neck he thought it probably sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to -” Billy interjected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I can. I can talk about it. It’s over, Hopper got him. I’m not keeping anything from you anymore.” And Steve told him all of it in a rush, still pressed against his neck, so he didn’t have to see Billy’s face and Billy didn’t have to see his. And really, getting it all out in the open, while he smelled coffee and the stale cologne that clung to Billy’s skin from the day before, in the growing, dusty morning light casting harmless blue shadows against the far wall, he was ok. When he was done, Billy pulled back from him and put both his hands on Steve’s cheeks, searching Steve’s face for wrinkles and worry lines. When he saw nothing but the wry, vulnerable grin on Steve’s lips, he swooped in and kissed him softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for telling me.” Billy said against Steve’s cheek. Steve nodded. “Hopper’ll make sure we </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>never have to see that bastard again this time. I’ll keep you safe now, yeah?” He nodded again. They didn’t move for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Steve took a breath. “I’m gonna be late,” He told Billy. “We gotta move. I’m right here, ok?” Billy grimaced, looked whiny and about ready to complain, but nodded anyway and accepted the cup of coffee that Steve pushed at him as he turned away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left a while after that. Billy wore all black, his big work boots and jeans, sweatshirt and heavy canvas coat. He left his hair wild, falling in sharp curls around his face. He insisted on driving when they made it to the car. Steve joked that he looked more like a bodyguard than a boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn fuckin’ right,” Billy growled at him. As he drove he kept a firm but tender hand on Steve’s thigh. They listened to Jane’s Addiction on the way in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you ever call that girl, the bassist from the show?” Steve asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shook his head and winced. “Nah, I wrote the number down somewhere before it washed off my arm though. I forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. I’m sure she doesn’t remember, I bet shit like that happens all the time. She’s definitely seen worse.” Steve said dismissively, but the hand on his thigh tightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant,” Billy answered stiffly. “I was gonna call her, or I was gonna remind you to call her, but then everything with your headaches happened, and it felt like I’d be lying to her if I told her you were ok then, so I was gonna wait until you actually were, and then I forgot. Don’t write off what happened. I’ll find her number.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, ok,” Steve said reassuringly. As much as he appreciated Veronica and Billy’s care, he felt awkward about it and hoped Billy’d forget again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Steve led Billy in to the warehouse once they got there, and Billy kept close to him. Cory greeted them as Steve showed Billy the storefront and then back around to the work stations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve!” He boomed. Steve jumped a little, and laughed it off. Cory was a big guy, with blond curly hair and a wide, disarming smile. As he got closer he looked concerned. “What happened?” He asked. He made a move, lifting his hands, like he was about to touch Steve’s face before glancing at Billy and aborting the movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh…” He began awkwardly. “It’s… kind of a long story,” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ran into someone we have history with? But it’s all ok now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cory looked at him sympathetically, and Steve tried to think fast and change the subject. He looked more closely at Cory. Usually, he was dressed like a beach bum, with puka chokers and stretched out ratty t shirts, but today, he looked…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But listen, you look great! What’re you all dressed up for?” Steve exclaimed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cory was wearing a white button up with a thin blue plaid design, and a tweed jacket that had some green in it. He had on long light brown slacks and (admittedly very scuffed) shoes. He beamed at Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks! I’m going up to give my defense in a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s happening already? I thought you had just gotten into the program what - two, three years ago?” Steve said. “That’s amazing, man, you’re gonna kill it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hope so,” Cory grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause, and Billy wrapped his arm over Steve’s shoulders, pulling him in close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s this?” Billy rumbled smoothly from beside him. Steve cast him a questioning glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, this is Cory. Sorry for not introducing you two. He works in the warehouse with me, and he’s getting his doctorate in art history. He wants to be a gallery director.” Steve answered. “Cory, this is Billy. My, um, partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cory paused for a moment, mouth open. For a passing second, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it second, he looked disappointed. Then it was gone and he was smiling again, stepping forward and holding out his hand. “It’s great to meet you, Billy. I heard about you from Paul, the days Steve had to call out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to meet you, too.” Billy answered, sounding a little too suave and smug. “That… art school </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds cool.” Steve elbowed him discreetly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span> was his deal? Billy shot him a look that was self-satisfied and squeezed the arm around the back of Steve’s neck and Steve raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t want to keep you. You should get going. Good luck, again!” Steve told Cory, who started and glanced at his watch, then already beginning to move down the hallway past them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was great to meet you, Billy, and see you later, Steve!” He called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed at his antics and shook his head, then started leading Billy on down the hallway the other direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know a single other guy that doesn’t want to fuck you, pretty boy?” Billy asked, laughter in his voice. Steve choked and spun around, slapping a hand over Billy’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say stuff like that here, I’m at <em>work</em> -” Steve said, and then sputtered again when Billy’s words registered. “And Cory isn’t… it’s not like that. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> together. Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He looked carefully into Billy’s face, but Billy didn’t actually seem angry. He still had that shit-eating smug grin, slimy on his face. Steve rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I like having the boy all the other boys want.” Billy told him, pinching his side. Steve pushed his hand away and was quick to keep him moving toward the warehouse, but he didn’t really mind. This was as close to normal as Billy had acted all day, and Steve was happy to see him stepping out from behind the cloud-veil of whatever he was working through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked the rest of the way down to the warehouse. Paul was there, in a corner where he had set up a large chalkboard that he was using to sketch new designs out on. There were a few others, too, that Steve hadn’t really met or hit it off with. Just familiar faces. Steve walked on over to his work station and pointed to the chair in front of his wheel for Billy to sit down on. He stood with his back to Billy, at the tall standing work table set up along the wall, and began pulling out the things he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Billy asked him, leaning forward on the stool to get a better look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta temper the clay I’m gonna use this week. Add stuff to it so it doesn’t crack or anything when I put it in the kiln.” Steve explained. He hefted the block of new clay that was waiting for him up onto the work table and then grabbed a length of sturdy wire to section off the clay into blocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy hummed some song behind him as he worked. He felt Billy’s eyes on his back, but it was a comforting presence. Even when Billy got bored of just sitting and moved around his space, poking and prodding and playing with different pieces of equipment, Steve rolled his eyes and told him to sit still but he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alicia showed up a few hours later, after Billy had started poking at the clay Steve was working, gotten freaked out by how it grabbed at the lines in his skin, washed his hands for ten minutes, and settled back down again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get into a fight, Prep?” She asked him, looking suspicious. Steve smiled, bumping a clean elbow against Billy comfortingly when he stiffened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Homophobic asshole.” Was all he said in explanation, and shrugged. She took it. She shot both of them a look and gave Steve a grin when he introduced her to Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a tray of mugs from her own work table and set them on top of her wheel, took a repurposed paint bucket and a power drill with a large attachment that looked like a whisk on the end to mix her glaze. As she glazed her almost-ready pieces, she and Billy talked music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve separated his pieces of prepped clay and set them aside. He had put in a number of hours, and he was dead tired from kneading the tough clay. His eyelids were heavy and he was getting slower and slower in response to Alicia and Billy’s attempts to pull him into their conversations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we get you home, pretty boy?” Billy murmured after the second question Steve just totally missed altogether. Steve nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just finishing up.” He breathed back. “I’ll wash my hands and be ready.” Billy nodded and rubbed his back for a few seconds, and then Steve walked over to the wash stations and scrubbed. He had wanted to do some sketching for his next batch, but it had been more than four hours and he could always do that from home… Plus, he was so tired he wasn’t positive he could have really focused on sketches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he walked back over, scraping at his hands in circular motions with a paper towel to keep working the clay out, they both said goodbye to Alicia and left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really look in your element in there.” Billy told him. “Glad you found your place.” Steve smiled broadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” He said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.” Billy answered. “Now let’s get home. I’ll make us food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy drove again, popped in a worn cassette and let it play softly. Steve dozed off in the passenger seat with Billy’s hand on the back of his head, fingers scraping lightly through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy made them sandwiches when they got back to the apartment while Steve changed out of his clay caked clothes and into jeans and a sweatshirt. Billy turned the tv on too, so there was the low buzz of background noise as they moved around and settled in. While they ate at the kitchen table together, Steve tried to discreetly watch Billy. He could infer a lot. He could do a lot of guessing about how Billy was feeling. He could kind of guess that Billy was feeling angry and guilty and wrecked, that he was trying to stand up straight against the boot of what had happened yesterday that was on his back. Family shit was always fucked, but Billy had survived thus far with the idea that only he was the only one who had to carry the awful actions of his father. Who knew how he was going to handle the load he thought he was supposed to carry spilling over and affecting the people around him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve lifted his foot and shoved at Billy’s thigh with his toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You doin’ ok?” He asked softly. Billy looked at him blankly for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you talkin’ about, Stevie? I’m just peachy.” Billy deadpanned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gave him a bland grin. “Come on,” He poked Billy’s thigh again till Billy grabbed his foot and brought it up into his lap to keep him still. “Are you ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy looked at the far wall for a minute, and took a deep breath. He looked just as tired as Steve felt, and rubbed his thumb against Steve’s ankle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m ok. I just… I know that this wasn’t me, I know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Neil </span>
  </em>
  <span>did this to you, I didn’t. But… It just hurts to see you hurt. I hate it. And it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucked up dad. And watchin’ the way people look at you, and then</span>
  <em>
    <span> look at me like I’m the one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the way you have to field those questions they ask you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect </span>
  </em>
  <span>me makes me feel like dog shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve took a breath. “Ok. I - I mean, I was… I wasn’t answering their questions like that because I think people would look at you any different. People know you can’t control what your dad does. I was just trying to… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>trying to protect </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And… Well, I get that this is going to be shitty no matter what, but is there any better way I can talk about it? I just… we hadn’t talked about it before, and I didn’t want to just go around </span>
  <em>
    <span>telling </span>
  </em>
  <span>people if you weren’t ready to </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>people yet, so I just didn’t, and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy squeezed his ankle and he took a second to feel the warm band of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. It sucks ass that I’d have to ask you to do that when this shit happened </span>
  <em>
    <span>to you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though. I just wish things were different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” Steve said quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And… This is crazy, I know this is nuts, but… you’re still - ok with being with me, right?” Billy asked miserably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Steve responded, by now truly baffled. He leaned forward to try and catch Billy’s eyes, but Billy looked away again. “What do you mean, baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, people… </span>
  <em>
    <span>like us</span>
  </em>
  <span> are gonna be dealt a shit hand every once in a while anyway. I know that. But what happened to you? My </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>? That’s more than a shit hand, that’s fuckin’ wild. You don’t deserve… all this. Wouldn’t it be easier if you found someone el-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Billy Hargrove, I want you.” Steve said stubbornly. “It’s a good thing you can’t tell me what to do, you know that? We’ve both brought along our fair share of bullshit, but I’m ok with it. I’m more than ok with it. I love you, and none of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he waved his hand in the air vaguely, “is going to change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy nodded, with just a hint of a relieved smile. “Yeah. I… I love you too.” He said softly. They fell silent for a moment, holding their coffee cups and focusing on the warmth the cups gave them.  Then, “You know what I’m most afraid of? And it’s stupid, it wouldn’t happen. But…” Billy stopped talking again for a minute, and Steve let it happen that way. They were quiet. “I’m afraid that people are gonna look at you with your face and then they’re gonna look at me and think I was the one who did it.” Billy laughed but it was a dark, wet laugh. Steve didn’t move. “And I know that’s selfish as fuck - maybe one of the most selfish things I’ve ever said, and I’ve said a lot of fucked up selfish shit. But I can’t get peoples’ looks out of my head... So if you have any ideas for how to make people </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>think I hurt you again, let me know. Because I’m trying, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy,” Steve said. “You are so good to me. Anyone who knows you - </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>knows you - would never think anything like that. You’re not your dad. We know that.” Billy gave him a brief, small smile, just a tug at the lips. “And I could always give </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> a black eye,” Steve continued breezily. “We can tell people we got an old lady’s purse back from thieves or something.” That one pulled a laugh out of him, and then he leaned back in his chair and looked over at Steve sheepishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m bein’ a bitch about this. I’m supposed to be takin’ care o’ you today, not the other way around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugged and smiled. He took his foot from Billy’s grasp and then pushed himself up off his chair. He slid over (real smooth, thank you) and Billy scooted his chair back a little to let him lift one leg up to throw over Billy’s before settling in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy was smirking at him, and slid his hands around to dig his fingertips into Steve’s thighs, right at the fleshiest parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you can still take care of me, if you want.” Steve said, resting his arms on Billy’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Billy said thoughtfully, leaning forward and tilting his chin up to kiss at Steve’s neck. “I think I can do that for you, pretty boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hummed back at him, smile falling till his mouth was just open a little at the sensation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Steve whispered, threading his fingers through Billy’s hair. Billy licked at his neck and then followed his tongue back with his teeth, kissed him with teasing, barely-there drags of his lips three times, and then adjusted his grip so his fingers dug into Steve’s ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Billy asked, looking up at him dangerously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” Steve asked him, and then yelped and scrambled for a better hold around Billy’s neck when he abruptly stood. After adjusting, wrapping his legs around Billy’s waist, he kissed laughs along Billy’s jaw. Billy growled playfully and then lowered him gently onto his back on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re even pretty with two black eyes, baby boy.” Billy said with half a grin, surveying him with his hands on his hips where he stood over him. Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thanks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, dontcha?” He responded, pushing himself up on one elbow. Absently, he raised one hand to rub his nose. That turned out to be a mistake. Billy crawled toward and overtop of him, lowered himself down onto him to peck at his lips and then kiss him fully. Without being able to breath through his mouth as successfully, Steve tried to sniff through his congested and swollen nose as delicately as he could. Still, it caused a sharp pain to pulse between and behind his eyes that made him let out a strangled not-pleasure groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy jerked back so Steve could hold his nose carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened? What happened? Steve! What’s wrong? What did I do?” Billy rambled, spasming over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pulled one hand back warily, and - sure enough - there was bright red blood staining his palm. He couldn’t help it: he started laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy looked at Steve incredulously as he fell back to rest his head on the couch and chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, ok, let me look at it. Was that from where you were rubbing it earlier? Come on, baby, you know better than to -” He took Steve’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve, that’s bleeding like a motherfucker.” Billy sucked air up through his teeth and then began climbing up off the couch and bullying Steve into getting up too. Steve kept his head tilted way far back so he didn’t get any blood on his sweatshirt, blindly letting Billy lead him down to the bathroom. Billy instructed him to lean over the sink so any blood would drip down into the sink bowl while Steve washed his hands. Then, he pushed a hefty wad of toilet paper at Steve, who reluctantly used what he could of it before it became so saturated it started sticking to his skin and tearing far too easily to be of any more use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, by then the force of the bleeding had stopped so that Steve could </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever so carefully </span>
  </em>
  <span> begin washing his face. After most of the blood had run, pink, down the drain, Billy handed him a wash cloth to finish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Steve lifted his head without fear of the floodgates opening again, and turned back to Billy and smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… try again?” He asked, and tried to be sexy about it, but his voice came out even more congested than before, and he did feel a little lightheaded from the blood loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy snorted, disbelieving. “Yeah, sweetheart, let’s go back to the couch </span>
  <em>
    <span>so you can nap.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He said. Steve pouted, but was admittedly relieved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy, sure enough, herded him back to the couch, where he sat first with his back against one of the arms and then pulled Steve down between his legs. Steve fell asleep to the soft noise of whatever sitcom they were watching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were both startled awake sometime later by the phone ringing shrilly from the kitchen. Steve groaned, head pounding with pressure, and cotton-mouthed. Billy moved sluggishly, but was trying to vaguely move Steve up off of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, baby, I gotta grab the phone.” He said. Steve groaned again but sat up. “I know, I know, c’mon.” Billy comforted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stumbled up and into the kitchen. Steve poured himself a glass of water from the tap and Billy grabbed the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” He grunted into the receiver. Steve took a few sips of the water and then leaned his forehead on Billy’s back, right between his shoulder blades. “Hey, yeah, we’re good… Uh, I dunno if we’re up for too much tonight, but I can… I mean, it’s pretty cuking cold out there for a - listen, how about tomorrow, huh? Yeah, alright, I’ll talk to ‘im and we’ll see you then.” Billy hung up and said, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Unnrrrgh</span>
  </em>
  <span> - all those little dweeb kids o’ yours are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> obnoxious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed and hugged Billy from behind, too lazy to move. “Which one was that?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explains why you didn’t just cuss him out,” Steve observed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. Asked if we wanted to meet up someplace for dinner with everybody to check up on you. Hopper must have told the kid’s mom or some shit, which… fuck confidentiality, but whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Confidentiality doesn't mean jack with El around.” Steve pointed out. Billy conceded. “But that’s ok, we can do a dinner with everybody, right?” Billy nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just knew you - we - were pretty tired tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve moved his head up enough to kiss right above the neckline of Billy’s shirt. “See, you’re takin’ care of me today too.” He said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day was much the same. Billy called out again, his boss gave him the rest of the week off, and Billy drove Steve to work. Bill sat and poked at and fiddled with different things all in Steve’s work area. They went back to the apartment to shower and change, and then headed to the Byer’s house, where Joyce had offered to make dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kids all rushed at Steve to ask about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally rad car chase</span>
  </em>
  <span> and about </span>
  <em>
    <span>catching Max’s psycho stepdad</span>
  </em>
  <span> and</span>
  <em>
    <span> if Steve was ok</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>did his nose still hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, until Max pushed them all back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, you can see he’s fine but look at him, you’re freaking him the fuck out so back off.” Steve blushed, unaware he was being that obvious, and Billy gave Max a fistbump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Party all fell back bickering with each other, and Billy and Steve moved on into the kitchen, where they shouldn’t have been all that surprised to find Hopper with Joyce at the stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey boys,” Hopper greeted them, looking… different in a flannel and jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joyce turned to greet them too, and gave an, “Oh, hun,” When she saw Steve’s face. Steve blushed again as Joyce fussed over him. “Have you taken any head medicine recently? Want me to get you a couple pills? I’ll grab you a little cup of water, at least. Let’s do that.” As she pulled away from Steve and passed Billy, she paused and put her hand on his forearm. “You ok, too, sweetie?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy looked a little shell shocked, but nodded anyway. She patted his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll talk later.” She promised him, and then kept moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re y’all doing?” Hopper asked, from a safer distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugged awkwardly and nodded, and Steve took over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re doing ok now, Hop. Thanks for asking. Is everything… uh… Going ok?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With the bastard in my holding cell?” Hopper snorted derisively. “It’s all going according to plan. But listen, why don’t we just be normal tonight, yeah? I don’t bring work talk home, and it’d probably be good for you boys to spend a night not thinking about any of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both readily agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, y’all see the game on Saturday? That punk ass linebacker couldn’t…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It made for a great evening, for the most part. Nancy and Jonathan came over a little later, which was awkward, and Steve realized too late that he should have asked if it was ok to invite Robin, and that he owed her a phone call in the morning. But the food Joyce made was good, settled warm in their stomachs, and sitting around a dinner table with a bunch of teenagers could be as good for the heart as it could be infuriating. Everyone laughed and yelled and argued and passed the potatoes and Steve almost forgot about the last few days except for every once in a while he forgot to be careful of how he chewed, or how wide he opened his mouth to fit it around a roll, and there was a little stab of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, the kids cleaned off the table and did the dishes, arguing over whether or not they could run a quick campaign, or if they should just stick with blackjack (which had been the plan, Max reminded them, she brought her own deck for it and everything).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joyce, true to her word, pulled Billy aside into the living room to talk. Billy cast Steve a panicked look over his shoulder, out of his depth with a mom who actually wanted to act like a mom, and Steve waved at him sarcastically. When Joyce caught Billy flipping Steve off, she slapped his hand in punishment and waved him out of the room. Steve cackled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Steve, want to go outside with me and Jonathan?” Nancy asked, in that leading way that made it clear there was no real room for argument. He suddenly felt bad for leaving Billy with Joyce. Reluctant, unsure if he had any other option, he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and followed the two out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan lit up a cigarette and leaned against the railing of the tiny deck, where all three of them just barely had room to shift without bumping into each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve moved from foot to foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up, Nance?” Steve asked awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath and let it out sharply. “I know we’ve never really… </span>
  <em>
    <span>recovered</span>
  </em>
  <span>, after everything. But I want you to know that I still care about you. You know that, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head. “I mean, yeah, Nancy. Thanks? I care about you, too.” She smiled at him kindly, but in that vaguely condescending way where she thought it was cute because he didn’t get something. He had played into it in highschool because she thought that was what she liked, but it had always made him feel squeamish and embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped a little closer, and he froze. “I’m not… I’m going to say something and I’m not doing this to hurt you, but I feel obligated to say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her keenly, looked at her concerned face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok…” He said hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want you to be sure that being with Billy is good for you.” She said firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he had been expecting her to say, this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not it. He gaped at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone else is totally cool with Billy.” Steve pointed out. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you be?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know you</span>
  </em>
  <span> like I do.” Nancy answered, and Steve scoffed. “I just want to make sure you’re safe,” She assured him. “And that you’re doing what’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you. I know you do so much because you think it’s what other people want you to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being with Billy is what’s best for me.” Steve said, voice flat but acidic. “It’s what I want. Billy didn’t do this to me, his dad did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy didn’t do this to you</span>
  <em>
    <span> this time</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Nancy reminded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gaped at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know… I’ve heard Dustin talk about what happened the other week, and I remember from the summer after the mall. I know about all of what happened, back in highschool, I just want to make sure -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed a few disbelieving chuckles. “I don’t think we want to start talking about things we did in highschool, Nancy.” It was his turn to be condescending. To her credit, she had the wherewithal to flush. “We’ve worked our shit out. You can trust me on that. Thank you for your concern, but I’m happy where I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nancy shook her head. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. You’re just… such a forgiving person, and you’re really trusting, and those are </span>
  <em>
    <span>great qualities</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve. You’re a great guy, you are. I just think sometimes you can be a little naive about it, and I worry about you. I don’t think critical thinking has ever been very high on your priority list. I mean, growing up with your parents, with your </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I know -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk to me about my mom. You can think what you want. But I’m going to forgive who I want to forgive because I can’t live my resenting people every time something goes wrong. People do dumb shit sometimes. I forgave </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nancy sighed again. “I’m sure that the way things happened between us hurt you, Steve. And I’m sorry for doing that to you. It’s just that you’re really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting hurt here, and -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m done talking about this now.” Steve said with finality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t end things with you when I should have, Steve,” She pushed on. “But I never </span>
  <em>
    <span>broke</span>
  </em>
  <span> your </span>
  <em>
    <span>nose</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Neither did Billy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This wasn’t him. I think you should go inside. And don’t you dare say a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking word</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Billy about this, or I swear to God I’ll make you regret it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inside, Nancy.” Steve repeated. She huffed and tossed her hair as she turned and went back inside. Steve sighed and rested his elbows against the railing, running a hand over his face and then wincing when his nose ached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan moved up beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re just gonna spout back what your girlfriend just said to me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve said wearily. “Let’s go for an original thought here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan laughed silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve felt an immediate twinge of guilt but bit his tongue before an apology could slip out. He wanted to stay angry right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have those sometimes, you know.” Jonathan joked. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Original thoughts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I mean.” They both fell quiet for a minute, Steve brooding and Jonathan thoughtful. “You know, Nancy and I fight all the time. Like, all the time. It’s not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, we’re not doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I mean. It’s just that there are some things I’ll never get about…” He took a big breath and sent the smoke from his mouth out in puffs of cloud in front of them. “About what she’s gone through, and there’s stuff she doesn’t get about what I’ve gone through.” He cast a side eyed glance at Steve, who hadn’t responded. “My dad was shitty, too, like Billy’s. Called me and Will names. Made it real clear what he thought of… </span>
  <em>
    <span>some people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The only difference between me and Billy is I ended up with my mom, and he didn’t get that lucky. Even so, he has bigger balls than I do, too, the way he just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>is what he wants to be</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If I… I mean, if I ever tried… It’s not Billy’s fault, or your fault. I get that. Nancy doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Steve nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always thought you were real brave.” Jonathan murmured. Steve looked at him, surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What -” He began objecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really,” Jonathan insisted. “You just got… dumped into all the shit with the Upside Down and you - you - rolled with it. You could have left that night you came here, but you didn’t. You wanted to help. You’ve just taken everything that got thrown at you. That’s incredible, Steve. I could never. You just live like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ya know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve took a deep breath. He thought of what Billy said all those weeks ago, about his theory on Jonathan. “It’s not easy, being with Billy instead of being with... someone like Nancy.” He said. “But it feels a whole lot better than compromising.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan shrugged, and smiled at him more openly than Steve had ever seen. “Redirecting has worked for me so far.” He laughed bleakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just compromising?” Steve asked, talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>only living a half truth</span>
  </em>
  <span>, talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>taking the safer route</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>shifting two lanes over</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulling yourself the other way.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan shrugged and took a long, heavy drag of his cigarette. “Haven’t decided yet.” He answered, and then looked somewhere just a little over Steve’s shoulder. “You know if I were a little higher right now, I’d probably try to kiss you.” And instead of curling in on himself and flushing and playing off his confession like Steve expected, Jonathan just smiled again and took another pull from his cig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked at him, smiling crooked. “It’s probably a good thing you’re sober enough to not do that with my jealous mama bear of a boyfriend two rooms over,” He joked. “And anyway, you don’t need </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to figure it out, man. It’ll happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, it’s crazy how you don’t even really see how much of a… of a force of nature you are. You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lodestone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not a leader like you, Steve. I don’t see myself carving a new path. Maybe you’re right, you probably are, but… you’re special, Steve. Billy’s lucky that you’re his, is all I’m saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, man.” Steve said quietly. He didn’t know what some of those words meant, but he thought he got the gist and didn’t know what to do with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jonathan answered, and put the cigarette out on the railing, flicked the dead butt out into the grass, and turned around. “Well, it’s probably about time for us to head back in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded and went first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They left pretty soon after that. The older people congregated back around the dinner table, Steve pointedly sitting away from Nancy. Hopper made them all coffee to sip on. Billy saw Steve yawn once and was instantly gathering their jackets and saying thank you’s and good byes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was just as antsy as he was tired, though, with pent up energy from his anger over Nancy’s bitchy meddling and the bizarre rush of his and Jonathan’s conversation. As soon as they both swung into the car, Steve pushed himself half over the middle console, hip digging into the gear shift. He took hold of Billy’s face and kissed him hard, tongue lapping against Billy’s bottom lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s - what’s this, babydoll?” Billy asked, laughing between kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, come on, take me home - want you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please -” He breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy moaned. “Yeah, ok, baby - but listen to me, you gotta be good and sit back in your seat till we get there, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded quickly and fell back down into his seat as Billy started driving. He started rubbing the palm of his hand hard against his dick through his jeans, the friction just barely there enough to make him a little crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Billy pulled the car into park along the dark street next to their building, Steve looked around to make sure no one else was there and then leaned back over again to catch Billy’s lips. Billy indulged him for a few seconds, got lost in it for a few seconds, before pushing him back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta wait, honey, gotta get inside. Someone’ll see. Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve whined but obeyed, and they walked fast up to their apartment and pushed inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bed,” Billy growled even as Steve latched himself back onto Billy’s collar bone. “Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stumbled a little on his way to the bedroom but Billy wasn’t faring much better, pulling his coat off and letting it drop and then grabbing a hold of the back of his shirt and pulling it forward over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was undoing the buttons of his shirt, wondering </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> on </span>
  <em>
    <span>earth</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had decided to wear this one when dinners at the Byers were never </span>
  <em>
    <span>fancy</span>
  </em>
  <span> or anything. They went to Steve’s bed, falling shirtless onto it. Billy leaned over Steve to kiss his lips, licking up into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… what did Joyce want to talk to you about?” Steve asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy pulled back, affronted. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Really</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re right, sorry, sorry, keep going.” Steve answered just as fast, missing the feel of Billy’s lips on him already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t seem like you’re all that interested in it anymore,” Billy grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, don’t stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I need you -” Steve begged. Billy rolled his eyes but Steve could feel the smile on his lips when he lowered them back down to Steve’s cheek. He dragged one hand down Steve’s side and then back up again as his lips trailed to Steve’s ear, then to his neck, his collarbone, and down. Billy laid his lips heavily on the curving underside of Steve’s peck then. Steve’s skin felt prickly and cold except for where Billy turned his attention. Steve felt Billy’s fingers curl, steady, around his waist, right where the bottom of his ribcage was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy dragged the flat of his tongue up over each rib, and Steve sighed. Billy pushed himself back up, planted his elbows on either side of Steve’s head, and nosed at Steve’s jaw. Steve caught the hint and tilted his head up so Billy could drag his teeth over his neck and nuzzle at his ear. Then, for just a moment, they stilled and breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Billy whispered to him. He unbuttoned Steve’s jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, I love you, I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” Steve whispered back. They took their pants and socks off and returned to bed, shifting back up so Steve’s head was laying on the pillows along the headboard. Steve let his legs fall open. Billy leaned over him so he could grab the small bottle of lube from the nightstand, and then righted himself and kissed Steve quickly on the lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know Jonathan said he wanted to kiss me tonight,” Steve said in passing, voice breathy and thin. Billy looked up at him sharply. “What, no gloating about how you were right?” He asked innocently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>quit</span>
  </em>
  <span> tryin’ to bring the Byers’ into our bed?” He asked, sounding annoyed. Steve laughed, delighted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You jealous?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Scarecrow not havin’ the balls to actually kiss you?” Billy asked, rolling his eyes sarcastically. “Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> jealous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiled serenely, stretching out languid on the bed, and shrugged. “I don’t know, he said some </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweet things.” He egged. There it was. Billy looked at him again, this time with a dangerous glint in his eyes. He temporarily put aside the lube. The room was so dark, just the streetlamp pouring in orange from the curtain-drawn window, Billy’s eyes looked black with lust and just a hint of anger. It made Steve shiver. Billy pushed his thumb into Steve’s mouth, rubbed at his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better get that wet for me, baby,” Billy said, warning. Steve did. In the meantime, Billy took his other hand and wrapped it around the underside of Steve’s left knee, pushing his leg up till it almost lay against his chest. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good boys</span>
  </em>
  <span> get lube, get stretched open sweet and easy.” Billy said tauntingly, pulling his thumb out of Steve’s mouth. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Smart mouthed bratty boys</span>
  </em>
  <span> get their little holes used.” He brought his thumb against Steve’s hole. Steve yelped at how fast his spit had turned cold. Billy pushed, not enough to breach, but enough for warning pressure. He stroked his thumb over Steve’s hole, teasing, and leaned over so his lips brushed Steve’s ear when he said, “Which is it gonna be, honey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve whined and wiggled against Billy’s grip as Billy edged just the tip of his spit-slick thumb into his hole. “I’ll be good, I’m good, I promise -” He gasped as Billy’s thumb pushed farther in. “Just wanna make sure you still </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> me sometimes. Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> want me.” He shot Billy an impish smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy rolled his eyes but grinned back. “Always want you, baby.” He said. “You’re mine, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “Yeah, I’m yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Billy praised, and pulled his thumb out to grab the lube again. As promised, he opened Steve up sweet and easy, almost all the way to four fingers, pinky finger teasing his edge. He pumped his fingers in and out, first slow, then quick and hard, and then slow again, curling them so they stroked inside him. Steve moaned. Billy leaned down briefly and blew cool air against Steve’s cock. Steve whined and twitched a little, shifting away, but Billy held him still. It was always a game, Steve testing the waters and seeing if he could pull away, seeing just how long Billy would keep him there, Billy never letting go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy kissed Steve’s chest, right in the center of his sternum, right where the spattering of dark chest hair went soft and almost disappeared, and pulled his fingers out. He used the lube still on his fingers to coat his own dick, gasping a little and tightening his abs to withstand the cold. Then he leaned back over, wrapped Steve’s wrists both in his still damp hand, pushing Steve’s leg back even higher with his other hand, and touching the head of his cock to Steve’s hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmh please,” Steve begged in a whisper. “Fuck me, Billy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wanna feel you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you, baby,” Billy answered, chasing Steve’s lips for just a second. Then, as Steve was distracted by the kiss, Billy pushed inside. They moaned into each other’s mouths as Billy inched his way in slowly, slowly. </span>
</p><p><span>As Steve opened up for him, got accustomed to his length again, Billy moved quicker, fucking into him a little faster and a little faster, punching out “</span><em><span>Unh, unh, unh</span></em><span>” noises and whines and gasps from Steve. When Billy could tell from the tight cords of Steve’s body that he was close, he pulled out. Steve groaned, feeling the buzzing warmth of pleasure through his whole center dim slightly. Billy let go of Steve’s wrists, and of the back of Steve’s knee, and grabbed the lube again, this time warming a little bit of it between his hands. Then he moved back up to Steve, took both their cocks into one hand, and started jerking them off together. Steve groaned again, this time at the sudden onslaught of </span><em><span>so so</span></em> <em><span>good</span></em><span> and </span><em><span>hot. </span></em><span>Billy used his other hand, fingers just slick enough with lube, to thumb at Steve’s right nipple, and he kept the pace consistent, almost punishing, so that their orgasms rushed at them like waves and they came together.</span></p><p>
  <span>Billy fell into him, panting into Steve’s neck, and they both laughed as the highs of their orgasms made them shake and sigh. They lay together for a while in comfortable, feel-good silence, Steve rubbing his fingertips over Billy’s bare shoulder, until the sweat and cum and lube on their bodies cooled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Race you to the shower?” Steve asked. Billy snorted against his chest, but immediately after jumped up. He pushed Steve back down into bed when he tried to get up, and Steve bounced on the mattress, laughing as Billy bolted, naked, from the room. He followed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Steve woke up hazily to the sounds of Billy singing in the kitchen. He thought it might have been a Tina Turner song.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The end!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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